Vigilante
by President Luthor
Summary: As Clark copes with Pete's recent departure, a new student teacher arrives in Smallville. Helena Bertinelli the future Huntress seems nice, but is she here for redemption, or revenge? The answer could ignite an underworld turf war.
1. CH 1

TITLE: "Vigilante"

PG-13

BACKGROUND: As Clark copes with Pete's recent departure, a new student teacher arrives in Smallville. Miss Helena Bertinelli (the future Huntress, Smallville-style) seems nice, but she shares a dark history with Gotham's notorious crime families. Why is she here: for redemption ... or revenge? Lex intends to find out, but the price of those answers may ignite an underworld turf war that could turn the streets of Metropolis - and Smallville - blood-red.

TIMELINE: This marks my first post-Pete story. Season 3 finale events haven't happened yet. Continuity note: not DC's 'pre-Crisis' Helena, but loosely based on the modern version. Check your DC Comics canon at the door, because it's a Helena with a Smallville twist -- ie. influenced 'by', but not strictly bound 'to', what happens on the show or in the comics.

(Smallville High Gymnasium)

Chloe returned to the gym bleachers. The Smallville Crows senior girls' volleyball team were going through their drills. There was an important match against the Grandville Titans this week. The constant squeak of sneakers echoed through the gym. High-tempo, hip-hop music blared from the speakers, while the players practised their digs, blocks and spikes.

Chloe spotted the new assistant coach across the floor. The tall, dark-haired woman hollered at her team to keep their eye on the ball. In one exercise, she instructed one of the players to lob the ball over the net. She immediately jumped, and spiked the ball with such force that the player couldn't dig in time and sprawled on the floor.

"Nice spike, Miss Bertinelli!" Chloe applauded.

Miss Bertinelli grinned. "Thanks! I used to play varsity at Gotham U. I guess you could say I still know how to kill." The winded player who missed the spike just scrambled onto her feet, underlining the coach's lethal point.

Lana also returned to the bleachers. Pete had just moved to Wichita two weeks ago, so Chloe enlisted her friend to be her freelance sports photographer – at least, until someone else offered to take up Pete's job at the Torch.

Lana fiddled with the settings on the digital camera. "Thanks for letting me pinch-hit at the Torch," she said. "With most of my time spent at the Talon, I realized I didn't have enough extra-curricular activities on my resume."

Chloe nodded towards the other end of the gym, where Clark was interviewing one of the players. "I think Clark came to the same realization. He wanted to gather more by-lines this year. At least, that was his official reason for his sudden interest in upping his Torch efforts."

Lana thought about the bitter departure of Pete Ross, and Clark's reluctance to discuss the loss of his hometown friend. "And unofficially?" she inquired.

Chloe missed Pete, too. He was everyone's stalwart friend, yet he seemed to be more distant this year. It wasn't his fault, she concluded. It was ours. We let him slip away.

"Clark would never admit it," Chloe replied, "but he's not taking Pete's move to Wichita pretty well. Some work at the Torch seemed like a good way to keep him occupied."

There was a loud laugh. It seemed Clark had made a joke. And his interviewee, an extremely tall blonde girl, seemed to be enjoying the joke.

Perhaps too much.

"I think 'distracted' is the appropriate term," Lana stated. The girl was obviously flirting with Clark, who didn't seem to be playing his objective reporter role so well. "Number 12 is practically throwing herself at him!"

Chloe sighed. "Clark's not exactly resisting, either! I guess that's what happens when you stick a teenage boy among a dozen, athletic girls in form-fitting spandex. My bad."

Lana laughed. Guys can be such fools. Clark finally pulled himself away from Number 12.

"Having fun, Mr. Kent?" Chloe inquired coyly.

"Just doing my job," Clark replied.

"And is blushing part of it?" Lana teased. Clark patted his cheek in embarrassment.

Chloe checked the clock above the gym entrance. "It's half-past one. They're going to have a practice game soon. I've got to snag 10 minutes with Miss Bertinelli, then it's up to you guys to cover the final results."

"Do you know which class Miss Bertinelli is teaching?" Clark asked. If anyone would know, it would be Chloe: she gave the student teacher a tour of the school last week.

"Well, she said she was a history major at Gotham U.," Chloe replied. "Mrs. Rosenberg will be going on maternity leave soon, so my guess is she'll be teaching us 20th century American history ... at least until her field practicum here is done."

"Yes!" Clark yelped. "I have US history this term, which means I'll be in her class."

"Is that your personal preference," Chloe wondered, "or is that the standard response of every guy in the school?"

"I have no comment at this time, Miss Sullivan," Clark joked. Miss Bertinelli was definitely attractive. "I'll be taking no further questions." Two more players playfully called for Clark. "I've got to go," he declared. "Duty calls."

Lana slung the camera bag over her shoulder. "I'd better get to courtside for some pre-game shots. See you at the Torch?"

Chloe nodded. She crossed the gym and approached the new assistant coach. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes to spare, Miss Bertinelli. It's for the Torch profile on you."

Miss Bertinelli sipped a water bottle. "Girls," she announced to the team. "I want to see some blocking drills! I've been told Grandville has a wicked offence." She turned to Chloe. "Certainly, Chloe. Where do you want to begin?" They sat on the courtside benches.

Chloe pulled out her reporter's notepad. "Well, for starters – where do you come from originally?"

The new assistant coach paused. Her past was a delicate subject. "I grew up in the East Town of Gotham City. I'm proud to be a third-generation Italian-American. My family ran a successful textiles import/export business."

My life is private, Miss Bertinelli thought. I'll gloss over those parts that are too painful to discuss.

* * *

(The Talon, Smallville) 

It was late afternoon. The dinner crowd hadn't arrived yet. Lana relished this quiet period at the Talon. It wasn't too busy and she had time to do some homework before the place became busier.

A loud screech of tires interrupted her concentration. A metallic purple 2003 Lamborghini parked outside. The door opened, and a glamorous, well-dressed woman entered. She seemed oddly familiar.

"Miss, I'll have a double espresso to go." It was Miss Bertinelli, the new volleyball coach. "Lana Lang? I didn't know you worked here too. My, you're a busy student!"

"Saving up for college," Lana replied. She peered out the window. "Nice ride."

"My parents left me a trust fund for when I turned 21," the teacher explained. "The car's my only big splurge."

The door opened again. Lex had arrived with a handful of newspapers. "The evening editions arrived at LuthorCorp. I figured the extras would be put to good use here." He noticed the attractive brunette at the espresso bar. "Lana, I didn't know you also catered to Metropolis' jet-set crowd."

"The name's Helena – Helena Bertinelli," Helena offered her hand. "I'm a student teacher at Smallville High. You're Lex Luthor, right?"

Lex's charming demeanour immediately evaporated. "Bertinelli, eh? As in the East Coast Bertinellis?"

Helena froze. She had hoped that no one would know of her family roots. "I'm from Gotham City, if that's what you're implying."

Lex eyed the high-priced Lamborghini outside. "I'm not implying anything, Miss Bertinelli. Your choice of transportation says it all. Your Yves St. Laurent suit is only available on Fifth Avenue and Rodeo Drive. I take it your student teacher's salary isn't enough to support your lifestyle."

"My 'lifestyle' is nobody's business, thank you very much!" Helena declared. "For a fertilizer plant manager, you seem to know a lot about the so-called jet-set crowd."

"I was in Milan during the launch of the Fall Collection," Lex declared. "For legitimate business." He stressed the word _legitimate_. "I don't presume anything." He peered at the sports car again. "The facts speak for themselves."

Helena picked up her espresso. "Thanks, Lana. See you at class." She scowled at Lex. "Oh, and the next time you presume to pass judgment on someone because of their family name – don't!" She stormed out of the Talon, soon followed by the ear-piercing screech of her sports car.

"You were rather harsh with my teacher, Lex!" Lana grumbled defensively.

Lex glanced suspiciously over his shoulder. "Not harsh, but wary. Everything about her doesn't add up. The high-end sports car, the designer dress. Those were three-hundred-dollar frames on her sunglasses. Those luxury items don't come from a student teacher's honorarium. When she said who she was, I knew I had heard that name before." Lana seemed puzzled.

"You were probably too young to remember – you were probably only five then," Lex continued. "Helena Bertinelli is the surviving daughter of Gotham's ruthless Bertinelli crime family."

"Surviving daughter?" Lane blurted. "What happened to the rest of her family?"

Lex calmly sipped his coffee. He placed his macadamia cookie on a plate. "Think of Gotham City as this cookie." He split it in two. "One half of the city belonged to Anthony Zucco, an established lieutenant of the New York mafia. The other half belonged to the The Jazzman Syndicate, a forced alliance of old Anglo-Irish and East European gangsters. The Bertinellis were bound by mob honour to defend Zucco's interests. They did everything: extortion, racketeering, kidnapping, money laundering. All under the cover of a legitimate textiles exporting business."

He sipped his coffee again. "If your new teacher's dad stuck to his mob oath, Tony Zucco would have been Gotham's underworld kingpin then. But he didn't. Ever heard of the All Saints Day massacre?"

Lana shook her head. "Sorry. I was probably learning how to spell back then."

"I suppose," Lex replied. "The Bertinellis betrayed their vow to protect Zucco's empire. They sided with The Jazzman Syndicate, and wiped out an entire tier of Zucco's dons one day after Halloween. Zucco's New York bosses never forgave the Bertinellis for this betrayal, and ordered a hit on the entire family. Only Helena survived. Zucco just sat back and let The Jazzman Syndicate tear themselves apart with petty rivalries. He stepped in to fill the void left behind."

Lana held her hand up to her mouth in horror. "Oh my god! I had no idea! Maybe she's rebuilding a new life here? She said she got a trust fund from her family, from their legitimate textiles business."

"I don't think you understand," Lex stated,and he promptly smashed the cookie with his fist. Chunks and crumbs scattered all over the plate. "That is the legacy of the mob war in Gotham. They left the downtown core in ruins. The city has never recovered. Don't think for a moment that any of their businesses were legit. The clothes she's wearing, that car she drives: they're paid for in blood. If I was harsh with her, it was out of justified suspicion." He ate a large piece and swept up the crumbs from the table. "Sorry about the cookie."

He paid his bill and put on his coat. "Be careful, Lana," Lex warned, as he got up to leave. "Your teacher, Miss Bertinelli, might claim to be a new person. But she's the daughter of a Gotham mafia don. She benefited from those mob privileges. I don't know her true reason for coming here yet. But I assure you, I intend to find out."

Lana didn't know what to say. Miss Bertinelli seemed to be nice, even friendly. Was it all an act? And why would she move half a continent away to Smallville, Kansas to become a student teacher?

There were too many questions that needed answers. She quickly dialed her phone. "Hi Chloe? It's Lana. I think you should come to the Talon right away. I just learned something about our new student teacher. You won't believe it!" The odds seemed likely that her new history teacher was a mob heiress.

She studied the broken cookie of Gotham. Paid for in blood, she mused.


	2. CH 2

(Kent farm, Smallville)

Clark placed a few odds-and-ends into the box. He wanted as much space as possible around his desk before the final exams next month. As he tossed aside the clutter, he found an old photo: dated 2001, his freshman year.

It was a picture of him and Pete, at a Metropolis Sharks game. He carefully set the photo atop his desk. There were so many conflicting emotions inside him; he didn't know whether to be upset, angry or just disappointed.

He resented the way Pete had tried to leverage his friendship to bail him out of his street-racing problem. But, he couldn't really blame Pete, either. Pete, through no fault of his own, had the burden of his alien secret placed upon him. Aside from his red meteor mishap, Pete didn't wilfully betray that secret.

He had assumed that Pete's loyalty was good enough, and he took that faith (and his friendship) for granted. He didn't work hard at all to earn Pete's loyalty, so it was no real surprise that Pete had found a dangerous outlet for his frustrations over their fading friendship.

"Clark, dinner's ready," Martha called from the barn entrance.

"In a minute, Mom," Clark replied. Pete deserved more consideration than I gave him. To the end, he protected my secret. His thoughts drifted to that freshman year, when he and Pete were the outsiders. Times were much simpler then. Next year, he was planning to join the football team. His father would surely be against it, but there would be time to deal with that problem later.

He checked the computer clock on-screen. Half an hour had passed. I still have to edit my volleyball story, he gasped.

An SUV pulled into the driveway. "Clark? Are you here?" It was Lana. Chloe was also there.

"Chloe, I was just finishing the final edit on my article," Clark explained.

"I think we have a bigger story," Chloe replied. Clark looked surprised.

"You know Miss Bertinelli?" Lana began. "Well, Lex came by the Talon ... and once she introduced herself, he became all defensive."

"Why?" Clark was still puzzled. Miss Bertinelli was just a student teacher.

"Lex says that Miss Bertinelli is the only surviving daughter of the Bertinelli crime family of Gotham," Chloe interjected. "They died in a hail of bullets about 15 years ago. All except our new volleyball coach!"

"That's odd," Clark observed. "She does drive a Lamborghini, but I heard through the grapevine that her family was loaded."

"Yeah!" Chloe added. "— and apparently with dirty money! She's a trust fund baby, and according to Lana, Lex says she's living off the avails of Gotham's underworld wars. My profile on her just got juicier."

Clark held back her arm. "Whoa, hold on there. You're thinking of doing an expose on a student teacher? You don't know for sure if she's still has ties to the mob, or if she even is the same Helena Bertinelli who watched her family die."

"So what are we going to do then?" Chloe wondered. "Maybe Miss Bertinelli is a scout, exploring new turf for the Gotham mob?"

"All we're doing is speculating," Clark stated. "We need to nail down the facts first." He dialled his phone. "Hello, I'd like to speak to Lex Luthor, please. He's left for the day? Thanks."

Clark put on his jacket. "Lex left LuthorCorp., so he must be heading for the estate. I'll ask him about Miss Bertinelli."

"Lana and I will head over to the Ledger's public archives," Chloe offered, "and dig up more about Gotham's underworld and if there's any precedent for a midwestern mob expansion."

Clark got into his truck and turned on the ignition. He had planned to finish his sports article, eat dinner and lounge in front of the television.

Not tonight, he thought. The Gotham mob seemed to be on the move, and Smallville might be its first stop.

(Luthor estate, Smallville)

Lex peered outside his office window, and sighed. He fiddled with the phone receiver impatiently. He had been placed on hold. Again.

"Yes, hello!" Lex answered. "Bruce, I'm glad you took my call. It's impossible to get a hold of you! We need to talk about this Helena Bertinelli. What do you mean, it's out of your control? She's here on some teaching assignment from Gotham U. Surely you have leverage with the college board of regents?! I believe in second chances as much as the next person, but she's mob royalty. Her father was a don in La Cosa Nostra, and she's living off tainted money. Metropolis is not going to be the dumping ground for Gotham's social ills! Wait. Bruce? Another call? Do not put me on hold again. Bruce!"

Lex slammed the receiver, as Clark entered the office.

"Problems?" Clark said.

"Few people would dare to put a Luthor on hold – for any reason," Lex explained. "Unfortunately, Bruce Wayne is one of those anointed few who have both the clout and the ability to leave me hanging by the phone." He poured himself a glass of scotch. "I'd offer you a drink, but sadly I'm out of root beer today."

"I'm fine, Lex," Clark replied. "Actually, I'm here about –"

"— Helena Bertinelli," Lex completed his sentence. "The mob princess who moonlights as an impeccably dressed student teacher. Lana warned me about her. It's as well that she should." He paced nervously around the ornate estate office.

"In Metropolis," Lex continued, "we believe ourselves to be insulated from the uglier sides of urban life: the homelessness, the muggings, the slayings. But, we have them. Gotham City has the rundown Gotham Heights district, while we have our Suicide Slums. Our city is just able to hide it better. We're probably – oh, about 10-15 years away from becoming just like Gotham."

Clark was shocked at Lex' candour. "You don't believe that, do you? How could Metropolis get that bad?"

"It might surprise you, Clark," Lex smirked, "that Metropolis is well on its way. The Roman Empire didn't fall in a day. It took centuries of neglect, corruption and bad government to destroy it. By the time the barbarians were at the gates of Rome, it was too late."

Clark spotted the Gotham Post on Lex's desk. The headline seemed to prove Lex's point: _Slaying in East Town: Murder of union boss linked to Zucco mob._

"You were trying to learn more about Miss Bertinelli from Bruce Wayne?" Clark guessed.

Lex finished his drink and set his tumbler on the bar. He remained tight-lipped. "He's aware of the situation."

"And?" Clark waited for Lex to elaborate.

"Bruce will do everything in his power to salvage the hopes of his fellow Gotham citizens," Lex answered, "but, regretfully, he has a bunker mentality when his city's less desirable criminal exports show up outside his city." Bruce had told him that Helena had no direct connection to the current Gotham mafia, or to their New York bosses. Lex found that hard to believe, but Bruce explained that she went underground soon after her family was slain.

That didn't explain the sizable trust fund Helena used to purchase expensive cars, clothes and accessories. For a supposed victim of organized crime, she had all the assets of a mob heiress.

"Bruce has become increasingly aloof of late," Lex admitted. "It's clear that he has other priorities on his mind. I don't think we can count on further assistance from Wayne Manor on this matter. He believes your new teacher deserves a clean break."

Clark paced around the room. Miss Bertinelli didn't seem like a ruthless mobster. How could she, he thought, when she's coaching the senior girls' volleyball team? He couldn't reconcile that image with the one Chloe, Lana and Lex painted: daughter of a cold-blooded mobster who ordered the executions of dozens of Tony Zucco's dons in one day.

"Well, maybe she wants to move on with her life," Clark suggested. "Maybe she needed to get away from Gotham's mob wars and start with a clean slate?"

"I'd like to believe that," Lex replied, "but the impression I got from her is that she's quite content to splurge on material goods with her father's ill-gotten fortune. She would be naïve or foolish to think that her trust fund wasn't financed by the family's criminal activities. I'd advise you to go back to class tomorrow as if nothing was wrong." He patted Clark on the shoulder, and glanced at the Gotham Post headline. "Just be careful. Gotham mobsters aren't your typical street toughs. If they're crossed, they will seek retribution. Without mercy."

Clark drove away from the estate. Dusk was approaching. There wasn't much he could do now, except go home and prepare for class with history teacher/mob heiress Miss Bertinelli. He hoped Chloe and Lana had better luck at the Ledger's archives.

(Archives Room -- Smallville Ledger, Smallville)

"We're only open until 8 p.m. today," the paper's archivist cautioned.

"Okay," Chloe acknowledged. "We won't be here for much longer." She skimmed through old microfilm copies of the Ledger from 20 years ago. She stopped at a front-page photo of a mob killing in Gotham. Dozen of bodies in coroner's bags were lined up in a bloodstained room.

"Is that the All Saints' Day massacre?" Lana blurted. Chloe grimaced, horrified at the macabre photo.

Mr. Bertinelli, the family patriarch, had arranged a meeting in the textiles district with Tony Zucco's senior dons. The pretext was to form a strategy for eliminating The Jazzman Syndicate's growing influence. What Zucco and his bosses didn't know was that Bertinelli had cast his lot with The Jazzman: a shadowy figure who had cobbled together an odd union between the Anglo and Irish gangs and the emerging mobsters from the former Soviet bloc. Fifteen of Zucco's dons, enforcers and associates were executed in the ambush, under orders from the senior Bertinelli. At the time, it was the largest mass murder in Gotham City.

Lana flipped through some older issues of the Ledger. "It says here that Helena Bertinelli was kidnapped when she was four by some unknown rivals of the family. And to think that two years later, her entire family would be murdered! It seems Miss Bertinelli was caught up in that violent world through no choice of her own, other than by blood."

Some of the lights had been dimmed because the archivist was preparing to close for the day. A squeak in the hallway caught Lana's attention – but it was only the janitor, who was pushing a wheeled soap bucket and mopping the floor outside.

Chloe began to put in another roll of microfilm in the viewer machine, but she hesitated. She muffled a yawn and checked her watch. "Five to eight? There are, like, a dozen more microfilm rolls for 1983. I think we can call it a day. The archives aren't going anywhere."

Lana packed her bag. "Yeah, and I still have French homework. I'll be conjugating verbs until bedtime! I brought a zip file of my game photos, in case you wanted to have a look at home."

Chloe spun around, sensing that someone was watching them. No one else was around, except the janitor. His soap bucket continued to squeak along the slippery floor. They turned off the room lights and sidestepped the '_Caution When Wet_' sign.

"Good night," Lana told the janitor. Chloe turned around to look at the janitor, who didn't say a word. When they turned their backs again, she felt someone watching her. Something about that janitor bothered her, but she reasoned that she was probably tired and antsy.

Maybe I'm just paranoid tonight, Chloe thought. All this talk of gangsters is getting to me.

The janitor said nothing, and continued to push his squeaky soap bucket down the hallway. He wasn't interested in their homework, but he was interested in anything that had to do with Tony Zucco. This janitor also had a part-time job – as an informant for one of the Zucco family's Metropolis dons.

Chloe should have trusted her instincts.


	3. CH 3

(Classroom 2B, Smallville High School)

Miss Helena Bertinelli wrote _The Great Depression_ on the blackboard. She had traded in her designer clothing for a sharp, tailored black skirt and white blouse. The football jocks in the back row paid attention, but they weren't watching the blackboard.

"Your history teacher, Mrs. Rosenberg, left you with some reading before she left," she explained, "and I'm going on the assumption that you've all read chapters 21 and 22."

One of the jocks – a joker by the name of Brad – raised his hand. "Uh, miss? Is there any chance for some extra-credit work?"

Helena was surprised at the question, and a little suspicious. "What sort of extra-credit work would that be?"

"The sort of extra-credit in the back seat of Brad's van," one of his teammates deadpanned.

Helena rolled her blue eyes at the lame joke. "Oh, how original. It's almost as funny as the results of the last multiple-choice test on 1920's American politics." She began to distribute the marked tests. "Apparently, most of the class needs to brush up on the Jazz Age, F. Scott Fitzgerald and the stock market crash." She stopped in front of Clark's desk. "Except for students like Mr. Clark Kent, who scored an A- on the test."

Brad punched Clark in the shoulder. Clark didn't feel a thing, but Brad's taunts were still annoying. "That's no surprise, Miss," Brad barked. "Clark's always good at being a dork!" His teammates laughed at the joke.

Helena placed Brad's test on his desk. "Well, it looks like you and everyone else who didn't get at least a C is going to have to rewrite the test. Did I mention that it would be a test that I designed? Which means you're going to have to review chapters 19 and 20 … on top of the assigned chapters 21 and 22."

"That's okay," Clark grinned mischievously at Brad. "Brad's good at doing extra homework."

Helena returned to the blackboard. "With the aftermath of the stock market crash," she continued, "America found itself in a period of confusion. The government's policies …" The ring of the school bell interrupted her sentence. The students immediately collected their books and emptied the class.

Brad and the other jocks shoved past Clark and yelped through the hallways. Lana looked at her mark. "B-? Just a cut above average. Great." She seemed disappointed.

"You're a good student, Lana," Clark reassured her. "You'll do fine."

"He's right, Lana," Helena added. "You're in the top ten percent. I wouldn't be concerned." She picked up the latest issue of the Torch. "Great job on your volleyball story, guys! I see you two are involved in after-school events."

"We try," Clark replied. "We know there's more to life than Smallville."

Helena looked outside the window at the high school's leafy campus. It seemed peaceful. She wanted to succeed here, but she feared that her murky past could spoil her attempt to forge a new life.

"I wouldn't sell your little town short, Clark," Helena stated. "You have no idea what you've got here. The big city's not all it's cracked up to be."

"So, Lana," Clark began, "wanna go over the 'Dirty Thirties' in America in study hall with me?"

Lana frowned. "My study hall period was yesterday. Sorry. I've got French class in five minutes."

Clark was about to let her go, but he remembered that Lana had gone with Chloe last night to the _Ledger_ paper's archives.

"Wait, Lana!" Clark hollered. "How did your trip to the _Ledger_ go?"

Lana pulled out a few photocopies from her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot! There wasn't much in the _Ledger_. But, the All Saints Day massacre was big enough to get a front page spread 15 years ago."

Clark glanced back at the history classroom. "Miss Bertinelli doesn't seem like a mob heiress at all." He skimmed through the photocopied articles. "And she was so young when all this stuff happened. Maybe she really wants to turn over a new leaf."

"That's what I was thinking," Lana admitted. "She's a really good teacher. I don't get the sense from her that it's just an act. If she were still in the mob, why would she bother to create make-up tests for our class? I know Lex is just looking out for us, but maybe he doesn't understand the full picture. If he could ask Bruce Wayne about her --"

Clark sighed. Lex was right: Bruce had become aloof. He rarely returned phone calls these days. There was some talk of a future expedition to the Far East: India, Nepal, Thailand, Japan. Something was going on in his life that took priority over keeping in touch with friends. And yesterday wasn't the first time he had seen Lex argue with Bruce over the phone.

"Bruce is busy," Clark declared. "Lex tried to get more info from him, but Bruce has a full plate. He doesn't have time for anything – or anyone."

Lana noticed Clark's disappointment and squeezed his arm supportively. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure that it's just business. I don't think you're going to lose him as a friend."

Clark remembered the old photo he found: Pete and I smiling at the Sharks game. "But I think I've already lost Pete. We were so close. He – I – we didn't make the time. We took time for granted, and now he's moved to Wichita! He was my best friend, Lana. How can a friendship like that change?"

They turned a corner and ran into Chloe. "Is Miss Bertinelli still in class?" she inquired. Chloe's arrival spared both Clark and Lana from dealing with 'the Pete issue' for now.

"You'd better hurry," Clark cautioned. "History was her last class today. I think she's heading back to Metropolis for the night."

(The Torch office, Smallville)

Helena walked into the _Torch_. "So this is the school's famous student paper? Aside from those meteor bogeymen stories, you're done a pretty good job here."

"Thanks, Miss Bertinelli!" Chloe beamed. "I hope to get into Metropolis U.'s journalism school when I graduate."

Helena smirked as she studied the wall of clippings in the rear. "Gotham U.'s mass comm. department is excellent," she replied. "But not as good as Metropolis," Chloe protested, then she caught Helena's smirk. She was only teasing her.

Helena sat on the corner of a desk. "I'm assuming you didn't ask me here to compare journalism programs."

Chloe took a deep breath. She wanted to know if Miss Bertinelli really was a mob heiress. "I needed to flesh out some details for my profile on you. Your family, for example. They're … umm … well-known in Gotham City."

Helena bristled at this attempt to dig into her family's past. Lex Luthor already had suspicions about her true intent here. She didn't want to encourage Chloe's investigations, but she didn't want to appear to be hiding anything either.

"I'm sure the rumour mill has been spinning since I arrived here," Helena stated. "Let me put some things to rest. I am the only surviving daughter of the Bertinelli family of Gotham, the same family murdered by mobster Tony Zucco. I was placed in a federal witness protection program soon after that, but I returned to Gotham when I started college. I have no ties to the mafia. I hate them for what they did to my family! And while I do have a trust fund, my family kept legitimate business separate from the mob. Both the dean of Gotham's Faculty of Education and the Lowell County School Board know who I am, so I'm not hiding anything. I'm fairly easy-going, but I consider that my private life is just that: private."

Chloe was stunned at the teacher's candour. She was also worried that she had crossed the line between curiosity and gossip-column muckraking.

"I have no reason to doubt you," Chloe replied, "but I'm sure you're aware some people in town are wondering why you'd pick Smallville of all places to start your teaching career?"

"I want a fresh start," Helena said. She was becoming tired of Chloe's questions, but she had to be careful. She couldn't stop the rumours, but she hoped her frank answers would satisfy the _Torch_'s inquisitive editor.

Chloe scribbled some notes in her pad. "I'll make sure we set the record straight on you, Miss Bertinelli. And don't worry, I agree with you: what happened to your family is nobody's business but yours."

Helena checked her watch. "I've got to run, Chloe. I want to beat the rush-hour dash to Metropolis." Chloe waved goodbye. "Thanks for your time! Have a safe trip!"

Chloe tapped her pen against her cheek. When Pete was here, she'd explore her theories with him. Usually, he'd tell her if she was on a hot story, or a flop. He would often be the voice of reason who'd try to rein in her (occasionally) reckless impulses. Now, he was gone. She didn't realize it at the time, but Pete was the most grounded of the Torch's wannabe-reporters – including the editor herself. She missed his counsel.

It was more than that: she missed his constant friendship. Maybe we did take him for granted.

Now, it was time to grab a bite to eat at the Talon, swap ideas with Lana for the next volleyball match and finish her research at the _Ledger_.

She wasn't going to delve into the Bertinellis sordid past on the pages of the Torch, but she had to satisfy her insatiable curiosity. Miss Bertinelli said she wasn't hiding anything.

If she was hiding something, Chloe thought, I want to know why.

(Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church, Metropolis)

Helena waited on the bench outside the wooden confessional for the priest. She was caught in the after-work traffic and missed the 5 p.m. Mass. A hint of incense lingered in the air. The afternoon sun's rays flooded through the stained glass windows, creating rainbow patterns on the church floor. At the front of the church was a marble replica of Michelangelo's _La Pieta_: an iconic representation of Mary, cradling the crucified Christ.

Even though she was too young to remember her family's deep involvement in organized crime, she still felt guilt over her blood ties to it. She wanted to believe that her father wasn't a criminal or a murderer, that he was merely a savvy textiles merchant.

The All Saints Day massacre, sadly, was a fact. Fifteen lives ended that day in a hail of gunfire, by order of _The Don_ Bertinelli. In the pizzerias and tailor shops of East Town, the locals have said that if Tony Zucco had died in that massacre, it would be the Bertinellis who would now control the Gotham mob.

Fate had other plans.

She would spend her entire childhood on the run: the Midwest, the Rockies, and the West Coast. Her family's loyal bodyguard raised her as his own child. He feared that Tony Zucco would someday finish his contract and kill Helena. He taught her to fight for her life, how to escape … how to survive. "Kill them before they kill you," was his mantra. "There ain't no second chances."

Smallville was her second chance now. Gotham University had been sympathetic to her plight. Some in the board of regents had reservations about her mob ties, but the majority sided with her. Helena was a daughter of their tortured city. She could become a teacher, if she wanted to.

The light above the confessional turned on: the priest was inside. Helena stepped behind the curtain, knelt in the creaky confessional and crossed herself. The priest, silhouetted behind a latticed screen, was a friendly-looking man in his fifties.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned," Helena replied. "It's been so long since I did this. I don't know where to begin."

"Take your time, dear," the priest said. "I have about 45 minutes before Jeopardy starts." Helena laughed at the unexpected joke, but her happiness was too brief.

"You see, my family was involved in some pretty bad business," Helena admitted. "I'm a Bertinelli."

"From Gotham City?" the priest gasped. "But didn't the whole family die in those terrible slayings?"

"I'm the surviving daughter," Helena said. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is – I want to move on with my life, but I don't know if I can. Or even, if I should."

"Sins of the father don't fall upon the daughter," the priest consoled. "You were but a child then. How could you know what sort of business your father was in?"

"Time doesn't heal," Helena continued. "I know it's best to turn the other cheek. But my family's killer walks free. Tony Zucco has never been connected to the death of my entire family, yet everyone on the street knows he ordered it. There's no justice!"

"We must all answer for the choices we make," the priest explained. "Including Tony Zucco. If the authorities don't get him, then the Almighty surely will on Judgment Day. You must have faith that justice will be served … either in this life or the next."

Helena sighed. It would be better for her to let go of the pain. Or even to forgive. She clenched her teeth. On that terrible night, the Bertinellis' walled compound in East Town was splattered in blood. Her father and mother smothered their youngest daughter with their bodies, as Zucco's goons shot them mercilessly. _No_, she had screamed, when the GCPD rescued her from the horrific scene.

_No! They hurt my Mommy and Daddy!_

"No!" Helena blurted. The priest looked at her oddly. She buried her dreadful memories and quickly put on her coat. "I don't even know why I'm here."

"You want peace," the priest concluded. "That's why you're here. Why you moved half a continent away. You've committed no sin, just by being a Bertinelli."

"Tony Zucco is alive," Helena muttered spitefully. "There can be no peace for me until –"

"The police will deal with him, or the courts. And – eventually – God," the priest argued. "It's beyond your control now. Let that hatred go! It's a cancer that will destroy you, if you let it fester."

Helena relented, and completed her confession. "Say five Hail Mary's for your penance," the priest ended with a blessing, "and go with Christ."

Helena knelt before _La Pieta_ to recite her Hail Mary's.

"… Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death …" She recited the words – words etched in her mind through a lifetime of parochial schools – but she didn't know if she still had any faith left in her.

She recited her last Hail Mary. Tony Zucco is alive, she lamented.

There can be no peace for me, until I kill him.


	4. CH 4

(Phase Two – Luthor Commerce Square, Metropolis financial district)

The rumble of Lex's Porsche caught the attention of the construction workers at the corporate plaza. Luthor Commerce Square, the largest development in Metropolis' financial district in a quarter-century, was to be LuthorCorp.'s crowning achievement. Despite Lionel Luthor's current status as a prisoner, Lex was determined to see the project to its completion.

The site foreman, a heavy-set man in his forties, arrived with a clipboard and a hard hat for Lex.

"I'm sorry we had to bother you, Mr. Luthor," the foreman hollered above the ear-splitting jackhammer, "but the union boss wanted to see you. He just flew in from New Jersey. The project is two weeks behind schedule and he says his guys won't work another day until he straightens things out with you."

Above them, a large crane lifted concrete blocks to the upper floors. A cement truck rolled towards the far end of the construction site. Labourers cursed at each other – probably due to some unforeseen problems. They didn't like the fact the corporate honcho had arrived to inspect their work.

Lex put on his hard hat and gingerly stepped over a stack of steel rods. "If the union has an issue with the delay," he grumbled, "they should complain to city hall. It took city council nearly three weeks of bickering to finally approve Phase Two of the plaza development."

They stopped at a plain, white trailer labelled 'Site Office'. Lex pushed open the door, where he found half a dozen men huddled around a computer desk. Before Lex could ask who they were, the foreman literally ran out of the trailer office.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Luthor," the lead contractor announced. Owen O'Grady, the owner of the largest construction firm in the city, welcomed his famous guest with a lively handshake.

"I'm not here for small-talk, Owen," Lex stated curtly. "This project has a firm deadline. We're two weeks late: why?" At the desk, he noticed another man in a well-tailored suit behind a pair of tall men. Lex couldn't see his face because the man was also wearing a hard hat.

"I assume that you are the union boss," Lex announced. "I hope you have a good reason for threatening a work stoppage."

"Actually," the man replied, removing his hard hat, "I have a very good reason." Lex saw his face, and gasped.

The union boss was Tony Zucco, the unchallenged kingpin of Gotham's underworld. He had salt-and-pepper hair, weary eyes and a rigid jaw. His appearance in Metropolis seemed to confirm his suspicions about Zucco's mid-west expansion. The mob boss looked menacing in person, but Lex showed no sign of anxiety.

"Your boys out there have signed up with our Labourers' Brotherhood union," Zucco stated. "Once the Brotherhood has received their union membership fees, we can agree to continue this wonderful project of yours."

Lex approached Zucco, but his bodyguards blocked the way. Zucco nodded, and allowed Lex to come closer.

"I know what's going on here," Lex growled. "You're going to charge exorbitant union fees, skim the difference, and use the workers' pension fund to launder your dirty money." Zucco appeared to be stunned, in mock surprise.

"Mr. Luthor is a sharp fella, Boss," one of Zucco's henchmen quipped in a thick Brooklyn accent.

Zucco settled in the office chair. "Yes, he is. Lex is a smart guy. He knows that this project isn't going to get off the ground without those workers." He ignored Lex and read through the Daily Planet. "It says here you've already put in $20 million into the plaza. Lex also knows that without those corporate leases, he'll lose every penny of his sizable investment. No workers, no plaza. No plaza means he won't be able to pay off his contractors."

Zucco continued to ignore Lex and looked outside at the construction site. "The union is now under my protection. If my terms seem – unfair – to you, perhaps you can find another thousand workers to build your pretty little plaza."

"Unfair?" Lex protested. "It's racketeering! You're damn right these terms are unacceptable!"

Zucco smiled benevolently. "I'm afraid it's all perfectly legal." He pulled out a document, embossed with the seal of the State of Kansas. "The state labour secretary signed off on the union transfer, effective midnight today. Some say the secretary could be the next governor of Kansas, and I expect our friendship to be long and prosperous."

Lex clenched his teeth in anger. He was trapped. Had Zucco pulled this stunt with his father, Lionel would have mustered his unsavoury ties with the Metropolis and Chicago underworld to settle the matter. Now that his father was in the state pen, Lex couldn't rely on those connections. He needed an advantage – or an exploitable weakness – to use against Tony Zucco. He had none, for the moment.

"You look distressed, Mr. Luthor," Zucco suggested. "A coffee perhaps? Or a donut? Louie, run over to the catering truck and get Mr. Luthor a coffee – double-double? – and a chocolate dip donut."

Louie, the other henchman, began to put on his jacket. "Right, Boss. Coffee and donut. Right away."

"No, thanks, I'm fine," Lex replied. "I don't want coffee or donuts. What I want is Phase Two, Luthor Commerce Square completed on schedule, and on budget." He grudgingly extended his hand across the table.

Zucco shook his hand, and smiled. "Then we have an understanding." He began to light a cigarette when Lex glanced at the No Smoking sign on the wall.

"My apologies, Mr. Luthor," Zucco grinned. "I suppose my nicotine fix can wait. I like your style, Lex … may I call you Lex? Your father is old school. He would have called in Morgan Edge's boys and his Chicago cronies to muscle me out of town like in the movies. But I see you're smarter than that."

"You have your agreement, Mr. Zucco," Lex stated calmly. "Please allow me to escort you to Metropolis International for your immediate return flight to Gotham City."

Zucco's smile faded at those words, and at the implication that he was unwelcome. "I'm not leaving yet, Lex. Metropolis has potential. I've got people to see, deals to make and money to collect. I'm a busy man, just like you."

"This isn't Gotham City, Tony – can I call you Tony, now that we're business partners," Lex snarled. "I've seen your handiwork in Gotham. People are afraid to walk the streets at night. The police force is outmanned and outgunned. Half of Gotham City Hall is either in your pocket or blackmailed into giving you a free ride." He leaned towards Zucco. "You'll find no such cooperation here, I assure you."

"Really," Zucco muttered. "The Metropolis underworld is disorganized. Leaderless. They have no direction. Tell me, Lex – who's going to stop me? Is there a mythical kingpin of Metropolis?"

"If you want to find the true power in Metropolis," Lex growled. "then look no further, because you're looking at him. Your continued presence in my city is conditional, at my pleasure. It would be in your best interests to remember that fact!" Lex noticed that Zucco's henchmen began to reach into their blazer pockets.

"Settle down, boys," Zucco ordered. "Lex means no harm. He's only expressing a difference of opinion. Lex will show himself out. He's a busy, important man."

Lex was determined to show no fear, even though his blood seemed to be on fire. His heart felt like it was throbbing out of his chest. He left the trailer quickly.

"He disrespected you, Boss," Louie replied between his chomping at potato chips.

"You're mistaken, Louie," Zucco observed. "He respects who I am. Lex Luthor is a man after one thing: power. He knows that I can give him that – whether it's at city hall, the Topeka statehouse, or in Congress. That's why he respects me." Zucco snickered to himself. Lex would be a valuable ally, but he could be a terrible enemy.

Minutes later, Lex angrily stormed through the construction site. The Gotham mafia had bullied him, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was also apparent that Bruce Wayne was either unwilling or unable to assist him. He floored his Porsche and screeched out of the construction site.

He was now more determined to find out about Helena Bertinelli. The Bertinellis betrayed Tony Zucco by killing 15 of his most senior dons. It took years for Zucco to rebuild his criminal oligarchy.

This betrayal, Lex smirked, was a weakness that I could use to my advantage – at a time of my choosing.

* * *

(Archives Room – Smallville Ledger, Smallville) 

Chloe opened a file cabinet for the years 1980-1985. The room was quiet, except for the hum of the ancient microfilm viewer. She unravelled one film roll and placed it in the viewer's spool. As she viewed week after week of archived _Ledger_ issues, she noticed that news of the Bertinellis' murder began to fade from the headlines.

The District Attorney of Gotham City had recommended that young Helena should be assigned to the federal witness protection program. The family bodyguard, whose name was never revealed to protect Helena, accepted her as his ward. She spent years on the run: living in safe houses, hotels and friends' apartments across the Midwest and the West Coast.

"It says here the FBI wanted to seize the trust fund, worth $10 million at the time," Chloe thought aloud. Sympathetic members of Gotham's elite objected to the feds' tactics and hired a team of lawyers to protect Helena's inheritance. The Bertinellis – despite their mob connections – were respected business leaders who made a legitimate fortune in the textiles industry in the 1930's.

Chloe found it hard to believe that the trust fund was clean money, but the FBI didn't pursue their investigation and dropped the case in 1986.

"I wonder if Bruce Wayne had any hand in defending Miss Bertinelli's interests," Chloe mused. The grainy photo in the viewer screen showed Bruce Wayne and defense attorney Harvey Dent at a news conference, where they had announced Helena's legal victory over the feds. Why would the son of Thomas Wayne even consider helping a mob princess?

She had searched Gotham University's online news archives earlier at the _Torch_ office, with little success. Helena was a star volleyball player at Gotham U., but that was all she could find.

The squeak of the janitor's soap bucket echoed in the empty hallway. Chloe tried to ignore the annoying sound, but it was no use. "How long does it take for that guy to scrub the hallway?" Chloe mumbled.

When she checked her watch again, 15 minutes had passed. The squeak of the soap bucket had stopped, which led Chloe to believe that the janitor was finally done.

She was mistaken.

Chloe heard the 'click' of the archive room door. The janitor, whose overall badge said 'Frankie', had closed the door behind him. He was at least six feet tall, with large, calloused hands.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Chloe demanded. She had no idea what the janitor's intentions were, and she was scared for her life. I should have listened to my gut feeling, she lamented.

"You've been looking into Tony Zucco," Frankie the janitor scowled. "Mr. Zucco don't like it when people look into his business." He slowly put on a pair of tarnished brass knuckles. "I look out for the Boss' best interests."

Chloe quickly stepped behind a desk. She wanted something – anything – to keep _'Frankie, the Janitor Mobster'_ at a distance.

"Why – is your boss afraid that Helena Bertinelli wants payback?" Chloe challenged. Frankie swung his fist, narrowly missing Chloe's shoulder. She screamed. Frankie lunged again, but Chloe grabbed a banker's lamp and flung it at his face. He ducked, and the green lampshade shattered against the wall. Chloe grabbed a few green splinters and tossed it at Frankie's face. This time, a few shards scratched the janitor's face.

Chloe dashed towards the room exit and grabbed the door handle, but it was locked. Frankie grabbed her in a bear hug and hurled her across the room floor. She moaned in agony, but managed to sidestep another punch – which instead smashed the microfilm viewer screen. Frankie's hand was now scratched and bloodied.

"You're gonna pay for that, missy!" Frankie growled. He grunted and shoved Chloe's face into the steel file cabinets. Chloe was exhausted, hurt and bruised – but she knew that if she gave up now, she could die. She kicked Frankie's shins, scrambled to her feet and darted towards the door again. Frankie caught her arm and tossed her furiously across the desk. Chloe groaned and collapsed on the floor.

Frankie's six-foot frame hovered above her, with his brass knuckles poised to smash her face into the wooden floor.

"Help!" Chloe screamed as Frankie came closer. She was desperate, and shrieked as loud as she could. "Someone help me! Clark! Help!" She was terrified that Frankie the Janitor was about to pummel her into oblivion.


	5. CH 5

(Advertising department - Smallville Ledger, Smallville)

With Lionel behind bars, Lex had begun the arduous process of hiring new staff. He already placed several executive and managerial-level ads in the Careers section of the Daily Planet. Senior staff would need executive assistants, IT personnel and other subordinates. He was told that The Ledger had wide distribution in Lowell County. He preferred to have employees who lived in the area: such employees would have a personal stake in the community's prosperity.

After he dropped off the final proofs for the employment ads, Lex walked past the editorial room and down the long hallway to the main entrance. Then he heard something break – was it a vase- at the far end of the hallway. He shrugged and continued towards the exit. Another 'crash' – louder this time – caught his attention. He thought it might be the clank of some machinery, when he approached the Archives Room.

A woman's shriek convinced him that the noise had nothing do to with machinery. "Someone help me!" the woman screamed again.

"Chloe?" Lex recognized the voice. He grabbed the door handle to the Archives Room, but it was locked. Chloe continued to scream. Lex took a few steps back, and kicked open the door. He saw a burly man, with janitor's overalls, hovering over Chloe. Lex lunged at the janitor, and punched him in the jaw. Frankie, the janitor, flung Lex against the file cabinet. Before he could grab Lex's throat, Lex punched him in the stomach.

Frankie stooped over, but he hurled himself upon Lex – pinning him against the file cabinets. Lex struggled to keep the janitor's brass-knuckled fist away from him. He smashed Frankie's hand against the corner of a file cabinet several times, then he yanked the brass knuckles from his fingers. Lex butted his head into Frankie's face, causing the janitor to loosen his grip on him.

"Lex – here!" Chloe tossed a steel three-hole puncher towards him. When Frankie charged him, Lex belted it across the janitor's head. The blow knocked him to the ground – finally. Frankie's broken nose began to bleed, and he groaned in agony.

Lex breathed deeply and tried to catch his breath. "Chloe … are you alright?"

Chloe was frozen with fear, but she struggled to regain control of her senses. "Frankie the 'Killer Janitor' over there is one of Tony Zucco's wiseguys. He didn't like the fact that I was looking into the All Saints' Day massacre. I'm going to call the sheriff's department!"

"Zucco," Lex grumbled. He scowled as he examined Frankie's name badge on his overalls. "If Frankie really is one of Zucco's 'made men', this is beyond the county sheriff's authority. It's organized crime. You'd better call the FBI detachment in Metropolis after you've called the sheriff."

Lex yanked Frankie's head up towards him. "Who ordered this? Zucco? One of his dons in Metropolis? Talk!"

Frankie spat out some blood. "I ain't talkin' to nobody. Nobody!"

"Well, it seems you've already said too much!" Lex barked. "How about I let it be known in Metropolis' Little Sicily that you broke your cover here and spilled the beans to a high school reporter about Zucco's business? I bet it wouldn't go over well with the Metropolis mob captains!"

"You wouldn't do that," Frankie snickered. Lex glared at him, without remorse. Lex Luthor wasn't afraid of him. The janitor began to feel nervous about what might happen to him if Lex carried out his threat.

Chloe hung up her cell. "The sheriff and federal agents are on their way. So that's it then! Tony Zucco will want to keep clear of Metropolis, since his network has been exposed here. If Frankie knows what's good for him, he'll tell the FBI what he knows." Lex didn't seem to be too pleased, despite their success.

"Lex?" Chloe wondered. "For someone who just took on one of Zucco's hoods – and survived – you don't seem to be in the mood to celebrate." Frankie continued to groan, as Lex hog-tied him with duct tape.

"Frankie won't talk," Lex muttered, "because of _omerta_: the mafia's code of silence. He's a 'made man', Chloe. His life is bound to the fate of the Zucco crime family. Were he to betray the trust placed in him, he'd be – literally and figuratively – a dead man. Just look at him: he's afraid he may have said too much! His fate isn't his to control anymore; it's in Tony Zucco's hands now."

Lex was reluctant to say more about Tony Zucco, his new union partner, but Chloe Sullivan would have uncovered that detail eventually. "Tony Zucco," Lex admitted, "took over leadership of all the major construction unions in Metropolis this morning – with the apparent help of the state labour secretary. He's in town, and he's not leaving anytime soon. He said so himself."

Chloe blinked her eyes in disbelief. "You've met Tony Zucco? Your address book just became more newsworthy than it was five minutes ago!"

Lex could hear the familiar siren wails of the county sheriff's squad cars. "I'd advise you to exorcise the name 'Tony Zucco' from all those story ideas budding in your head," Lex cautioned sternly, "unless you really believe your by-line is worth a one-way, first-person perspective of the bottom of Gotham Harbour."

"Well, thanks, Lex," Chloe frowned, "for dampening my hopes for a freelance article in the Ledger!" She was disappointed that Lex had shut down that story angle, but he seemed genuinely concerned about her safety.

The sheriff's deputies arrived in the hallway outside and arrested Frankie.

"Our dispatcher says someone gave the feds the heads-up," one of the deputies observed. "Frankie should be our collar; now the feds are claiming jurisdiction."

"Forgive our haste in informing the FBI," Lex responded sarcastically, "but when one of Tony Zucco's informers assaults one of the locals, I presumed that Gotham mafia entanglements were far beyond the scope of the County's Finest." The deputy merely shrugged at the implied insult.

Lex and the other deputy accompanied Chloe to the waiting ambulance. Chloe's arm seemed to be hurting and Lex's right hand had become sore. As Lex stepped into the ambulance's stretcher bay, he shuddered.

How would Zucco react to Chloe's unexpected exposure of his underworld links in Smallville?

(Smallville Medical Center, Smallville)

Clark and the Kents waited in the lounge outside the ER. When the doors opened, they spotted both Chloe and Lex. Chloe's left forearm was wrapped in a gauze bandage, while Lex's right hand was bandaged. Lex completed his statement to the FBI agents and followed Chloe to the exit.

"Chloe! Lex!" Clark blurted. "We heard you were both admitted two hours ago. Are you alright?" The Kents ran towards Chloe and Lex.

"One of Zucco's wiseguys tried to use me for boxing practice at the _Ledger_ archives," Chloe replied, "but, luckily, Lex got there in time. Battle scars heal, but it seems Zucco's writing the next chapter of his mob saga here in Smallville. We might not be so lucky next time."

"Zucco?" Jonathan Kent wondered. "Wait – you're saying you had a run-in with one of Tony Zucco's goons? This is Smallville … what business does a Gotham crime lord have in our town?" Chloe glanced warily at Lex, but she chose not to explain that Lex knew Zucco. She wanted no part of _that_ hornet's nest.

"Frankie the Janitor didn't say much to us," Lex added, as he cradled his sore hand, "but he seemed to have an objection over Chloe's research into the All Saints Day massacre in the 1980's."

"Well, I'm glad you guys are alright," Clark answered.

"This is far from over," Lex declared. If one of Zucco's cronies was prepared to kill Chloe because of the All Saints Day massacre, he feared, then Helena Bertinelli wasn't a long-forgotten footnote. In fact, her presence was becoming a clear and present danger to both Zucco and the people of Smallville.

"If that janitor was ready to kill because of alleged Zucco connections to the Bertinellis' slayings," Lex continued, "then it seems to me, Clark, that your history teacher owes all of us an explanation for her convenient arrival in Smallville."

"Miss Bertinelli has nothing to do with this," Clark protested. "If she was only here to get revenge, why would she go through all the trouble of becoming a student teacher? Why volunteer to coach the volleyball team?"

"She'd never have set foot in Lowell County," Lex continued, "if she didn't have the informal blessing of the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham U. board of regents. They'd rather ship their problems to the Midwest."

"I was inclined to see things your way, Clark," Chloe said. "Until tonight. It's obvious to me that she's hiding something. Let's suppose that Miss Bertinelli isn't here on a mission of vengeance. The fact is that the murder of her parents is still making Zucco's people nervous … even twenty years later! And they nearly mashed me into pulp to keep it buried in the past!"

"Clark," Jonathan added, "Lex and Chloe might be right. The whole town's heard the rumours of Miss Bertinelli's mob lineage. Some of the parents have been talking and – well, we're thinking of collecting a petition and submitting it to the school board to cancel her teaching placement."

"No!" Clark was enraged. "Miss Bertinelli is a good teacher! She wants to make a clean break with her past, and everyone doesn't want to believe her. Well, I do!"

"Look, Clark," Lex tried to calm Clark down. "Let me talk to Mr. Zucco. He's running the Metropolis construction unions at my corporate development and –"

"You're in business with Tony Zucco?" Clark gasped. "Somehow that doesn't really surprise me anymore. First, it's Morgan Edge. Now, Tony Zucco? The Luthors seem to have many friends in the underworld."

"It's more complicated than that," Lex announced. "He knows that I won't tolerate the sort of tactics he's used in Gotham City to wield power. Zucco has allies in Topeka and he plans to remain in Metropolis to oversee the Commerce Square development. He's aware of his limits: he can't move an inch in the city without my knowledge. What I can do is find out if he's still holding a grudge against your 'reformed' history teacher."

Clark didn't want to listen. Martha tried to convince her son to be more sensible. "Maybe we won't have to resort to a petition. I, for one, am willing to look past Helena's sordid family history and give her a second chance at a new life." She looked at those who wanted to deny the new teacher a fair shake – including her husband. "We should all give her a second chance. If there's solid proof that she has an ulterior motive, I'll be the first person to sign the petition for her removal."

Jonathan relented. "That sounds fair to me," he sighed. "I'll give it a day or two before we resort to petitions. Clark?"

Clark nodded, but he felt that no one tried to understand his viewpoint. "If it means you're not going to recklessly chase her out of town," he pouted, "I'll agree with that. She's cursed with a family name linked to the mob. It's not fair that she should be judged by what her father did in the past." He looked directly at Lex. "I thought a Luthor could relate to that situation."

"Point taken, Clark," Lex replied. "I only hope your unwavering faith in Helena won't lead to further underworld violence." As the Kents and Chloe left for the parking lot, he approached Jonathan.

"For what it's worth, Mr. Kent," Lex began, "I agree with you. Helena Bertinelli is a danger to the school and to the town. If you need any help in approaching the county school board with your petition –"

Jonathan paused and faced Lex. "Since Tony Zucco is a current associate of yours, I think it would be best if you didn't help. I am grateful that you rescued Chloe, but you've 'helped' enough already. How you handle your business partner is your concern, Lex – not Smallville's. You keep your own house in order, and I'll keep mine."

Lex winced at Jonathan's rebuke. Nothing he did would sway Jonathan's opinion of him. Zucco owes me an explanation, he scowled to himself. I'll demand one.

In the truck, Chloe tried to talk to Clark, but he wasn't in the mood for conversation. Chloe, Lex – and now his parents – were willing to turn against his teacher. Zucco had Miss Bertinelli's parents killed in cold blood, yet it seemed Zucco had free reign over their entire county. His influence now extended to the state capital. It was unfair, and unjust. Clark was determined to prove her innocence, despite tonight's events.

The attack on Chloe had brought Gotham City's ugly mob wars to their streets. Clark didn't want to admit it, but Chloe was right. Was it mere coincidence? Or did their new teacher arrange to come here in order to confront Zucco about the slaughter of her parents?

They had to find out – soon – if Helena Bertinelli had a hidden agenda.


	6. CH 6

(_The A-Train Jazz Club and Lounge_, Metropolis entertainment district)

Lex parked his silver Porsche 911 in the parking lot. The A-Train Jazz Club and Lounge – its entrance flooded with inviting red neon lights – was the most exclusive club in Metropolis. The suit-and-tie dress code was always in effect. An imposing bouncer in a cream suit and red shirt blocked the doorway.

Lex was in no mood for pleasantries. His hand was still sore from his altercation with the mobster janitor; he would get an explanation from Zucco tonight.

"Do you have an invitation, sir?" the bouncer demanded.

"I'm Lex Luthor," Lex snarled. "If you ever want to work in this city again, you'll step aside. Now." The bouncer recognized his important guest and quickly opened the doors.

A quartet of jazz musicians set up the stage for tonight's show. In a darkened corner of the lounge, Tony Zucco, dressed in crisp, charcoal suit and mauve tie, spotted Lex from a distance. Two of his associates stood up from their table and moved to intercept him.

"Boys, settle down," Zucco ordered. The associates glared suspiciously at Lex, and then returned to their seats nearby.

Lex tossed the janitor's school board ID card on Zucco's table. "Who the hell is Frank Nicci? He nearly pummelled a teenage girl's face into the floor of the Smallville Ledger! I almost broke my hand on his jaw to keep that from happening!"

Zucco shrugged, as he sipped his glass of red wine. "It's all a misunderstanding. Frankie's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, do you get my drift?" He stabbed his finger emphatically on the table. "He was not acting under my orders!"

Lex took a seat at Zucco's table. "That girl he almost killed is a reporter for the school's paper. He seemed to think you'd appreciate the fact that he'd keep your involvement in the Bertinelli slayings under wraps."

"_Alleged_ involvement," Zucco stressed. "Let's get one thing straight. You stay out of my business, and I'll keep your nose clean. I'll take care of this Frankie situation."

"How?" Lex demanded. He ordered a scotch and fiddled with his BlackBerry device.

"Hey, boss," one of Zucco's associates hollered, "Alex has one of them Blueberry palm pilot gizmos. Ain't that neat?" He was fascinated with its shiny LED screen.

"Not now, Louie," Zucco insisted. "Can't you see we're talking business here!"

The associate quickly turned away. "I'm just sayin' it's cool, Mr. Zucco."

Zucco grinned as the waitress brought his steak dinner. The meat's juices still sizzled on the plate. He carved into the steak hungrily. "Frankie can stew in jail. He might think I'm gonna spring him and post his bail, but if he hurt one of your friends he can park his sorry ass in the county jail for a few days. Will that suffice, Mr. Luthor?"

Lex seemed to be placated, but he knew there was more to Zucco's connection to the hit on the Bertinelli family. "I'm glad we're on the same page. I still have to wonder if this issue you have, with a hit you supposedly had no hand in orchestrating, is going to affect our arrangement."

Zucco slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin. He wasn't pleased with Lex's insinuations. "You just won't let it go, will you Lex? You're lucky I consider you a friend – otherwise I would consider this conversation impolite. How would you like it if I dug into your father's past with Morgan Edge? I'm sure there are a few skeletons in that pretty little castle you live in."

Lex chose not to reply and finished his drink. He didn't think that Zucco was going to elaborate about the Bertinelli slayings, and he prepared to leave.

Zucco waved at him to sit down again. "You know, I like you Lex. We have much in common, you and I."

Lex checked his watch impatiently. "I doubt that, Tony," he stated. Zucco grinned at Lex's pretence of familiarity.

"Allow me to explain," Zucco continued. "We value honour, you and I. We value what family bonds stand for, despite your claims of indifference with your father. We value loyalty, above all. And we despise traitors. Franco Bertinelli was a traitor. He paid with his life; he chose that path."

For a moment, Zucco appeared to be regretful. Franco would be Helena's father, Lex concluded. The man who tried to seize control of the Gotham mafia, with a hail of bullets.

"Franco and I," Zucco added, "grew up in East Town. We had First Communion together. We rose through the ranks together. When the Jazzman Syndicate moved into Gotham, we knew there would be blood spilled. If I had known that he would betray everything that we believed in, just so he could rub me out and take over …"

"That's the code you've chosen to live by," Lex observed. "You might die by it, too."

Zucco grabbed his arm firmly. "No, Lex, that's _our_ code. Yours and mine!" He was determined to make his point. "We look out for our friends, and destroy our enemies. I was supposed to go to that November 1st meeting, you know. Those guys he wiped out: Little Archie, the O'Grady brothers, Nick, Rizzo, Charlie, Big Louie … we grew up in the same neighbourhood, they were my brothers-in-arms. I vowed to protect them, but I wasn't there when Franco sold out The Family. I thought it was all over for me that night." Zucco fell silent; that was all he would say about the All Saints' Day massacre.

"And that somehow justifies killing your former friend in cold blood – in front of his daughter," Lex observed. "You may not have ordered it, but you let it happen nonetheless."

"You presume too much, Lex," Zucco replied sternly. "The hit on the Bertinellis came from above. The dons in New York didn't want the Jazzman to take Gotham from them, and they went through the roof when they heard it was Franco! He spat on all that we stood for. I was instructed to stay out of it because of our past friendship. They took the initiative. There were no survivors, they told me later. I know Helena's still alive, but I bear no ill will against her. Why should I? It is over. Gotham City is mine now." He finished the last of his mashed potatoes. "Now, unless you're staying for the show …"

Lex took this cue to mean that he had outlasted his welcome. He stepped out of the club and raced away from Metropolis in his Porsche. He wasn't entirely convinced of Zucco's pleas of innocence, but there was no solid evidence of Zucco ties to the Bertinelli slayings.

Did Tony Zucco set aside his vendetta against a friend who had broken the most sacred of mafia codes: loyalty? Was he content that Helena's parents answered for their treasonous actions with their lives, or did he fear their daughter's retribution? Frankie the Janitor was prepared to kill to keep Zucco's alleged involvement a secret. Was there a plan to establish a Zucco mob beachhead in Metropolis?

As he zoomed towards Smallville, Lex realized that these questions needed answers before he could do anything about Helena Bertinelli's disruptive presence in Smallville. He had saved Chloe from one of Zucco's goons, he thought. She would jump at the chance to find out just how deep Zucco's ties go in this state … and if Helena had truly left her underworld ties behind.

(Smallville High Gymnasium)

The Smallville Crows volleyball team called for its last timeout. They had tied the Grandville Titans at two sets apiece. The Crows had about two minutes left on the clock. Miss Bertinelli, dressed in a snug mauve track suit, huddled her team together. On the sidelines, Lana snapped a few photos for the Torch sports page. Clark sat near the front benches to take game notes.

"The Crows haven't beaten the Titans in three years," Clark said to Lana. "If they manage to pull this off, they'll make history!" The crowd in the stands could sense the drama, and they hollered and cheered. Grandville's players, in their black uniforms, had school honour on the line and were determined to keep their streak against Smallville alive.

The timeout clock had expired, and the Crows returned to the court. The blonde, Number 12 – whose actual name was Mindy – served the volleyball over the net. A Titan defender dug at the ball, while one of her teammates set the ball up for a spike.

"Dee-fence!" the crowd clapped and cheered. "Dee-fence!"

Another player spiked the ball, but a Crow defender blocked it and the ball tipped onto the Titans' side of the net. A defender tried to dig at it, but she missed and the ball landed onto the court. The seconds ran out, and the buzzer rang throughout the gym. The Crows' team erupted in cheers, as they realized that they had broken the Titans' winning streak against them. The players hugged Miss Bertinelli to celebrate their victory.

Inexplicably, Mindy gave Clark a post-game hug. "We beat the Titans! Can you believe it, Clark!" she beamed. Lana sighed at Mindy's over-zealous pursuit of her friend.

"You're supposed to be objective, Clark," Lana cautioned not-too-subtly.

"She's just happy that we beat Grandville," Clark explained, but that didn't appear to convince Lana. "Anyhow, I thought Chloe wanted to be here for the victory."

Lana took a few more photos of the celebrations on-court. "She said she had some things to check on at the Torch. She's still pretty sore after what happened at the Ledger last night."

Clark watched as the victorious players hoisted Miss Bertinelli atop their shoulders. From what he had observed, the girls on the team were fiercely loyal to their new coach. He didn't get the sense that she was faking her genuine concern for her players and students. "Now, Chloe seems to agree with my dad that Miss Bertinelli is going to cause trouble in Smallville."

"It's not Miss Bertinelli's fault that some Gotham mobster attacked Chloe," Lana replied unconvincingly. "Well, what I mean is … it's not her responsibility … is it?"

"Don't tell me you think Miss Bertinelli's still in the mob?" Clark demanded. "Just look at her. She's clearly happy here. She only wants a clean slate. She wants to leave her past behind her."

"I know," Lana observed, "but someone was clearly afraid that Chloe might expose Tony Zucco's ties to the Bertinelli murders. Is it even possible that someone with a past like that can ever leave it behind?"

Clark was about to answer, when the gym doors burst open. Chloe quickly crossed the gym, and attracted the glares of the Crows volleyball team. They had heard the rumours swirling around the school about Miss Bertinelli's notorious past and believed that the Torch editor had spread those stories.

Mindy turned to Clark. "Clark, you're a friend of _hers_?"

"Well –" Clark began, but he seemed to be at a loss for words. "—yeah ... she's my friend."

Mindy scowled at him. "Then, you can forget about our study date. Tell your 'friend' that she should stop saying bad things about Miss Bertinelli! She's done nothing wrong!" Chloe felt a chill across the gym. The entire team glowered angrily at her as they left for the girls' locker room.

"If looks could kill," Chloe replied. She punched Clark in the shoulder. "It would have been nice if you had immediately declared: _yes, Chloe is one of my closest friends_. Thanks for your heartfelt reply, buddy."

"Sorry, Chloe!" Clark pleaded. "Mindy caught me off-guard. And it wasn't actually a date. She asked me for help with history, I said yes and –" He could tell that neither Chloe nor Lana bought his lame explanations.

"So I've annoyed yet another group of jocks," Chloe scoffed. "_Quelle surprise_. That's not why I'm here. I was watching _WGBS NEWS_and they reported that someone tried to shoot Frankie the Janitor at the county jail about half an hour ago!"

Clark couldn't believe it. Despite the unusual activities in Smallville, Lowell County was generally safe. Mob hits occurred in Metropolis' seedier neighbourhoods, not out here in the countryside. Now it seemed that someone wanted to silence a Zucco mobster. Either Zucco himself wanted to erase a rogue mobster who acted without his approval – or a rival wanted to send a clear message to Zucco.

"Do you think that –" Lana began, but she was afraid to complete her sentence. They were all thinking the same thing.

"No," Clark insisted. "No! She had nothing to do with it. How could she – she was here at the game!"

The gym was now empty; the crowd had moved their celebrations outside. Chloe didn't want to disappoint Clark, or further damage his faith in Miss Bertinelli, but she was no longer sure that the new history teacher was worthy of that faith. "I realize that you want to believe that she has left her past behind, but you have to look at the facts, Clark."

Clark packed away his reporter's notebook and tape recorder. "That's the problem, Chloe. There are no 'facts' here. It's all rumours and speculation! Everyone's jumping to conclusions about Miss Bertinelli's past and why she's here. Lana … you agree with me, right?"

Lana hesitated. "I don't think Miss Bertinelli's directly involved. But that janitor did say that Zucco didn't want his name connected to the Bertinelli murders. Someone wants the janitor to keep his mouth shut."

"Clark … hello!" Chloe exclaimed. "Bruised arm here! Zucco beat the murder rap and would probably like to keep the Bertinelli murders buried in Gotham's past. Only a rival of the Zucco mob would benefit from exposing its lurid details. Whether that rival is one of Morgan Edge's cronies, the Jazzman Syndicate or some vindictive branch of La Cosa Nostra is anybody's guess. You have to admit that Helena Bertinelli's recent arrival – around the time Tony Zucco decided to mimic 'The Donald' with that project in Metropolis – is more than coincidental."

"Well, you can believe all the rumours going around town," Clark declared emphatically, "but it's not right that Miss Bertinelli has to share her life story. She left Gotham City to avoid all this! Considering what she's gone through, she deserves some privacy." He left the gym to write his story for the Torch.

"Clark Kent: stubborn to the end," Chloe grumbled. She might have agreed with Clark's theory that Miss Bertinelli had severed her mob ties and moved to Kansas to start anew. But the image of Frankie's brass knuckles still haunted her. If Lex hadn't heard her screams, who knows what might have happened?

"He just wants what's best for Miss Bertinelli," Lana suggested. She was no longer as confident that her history teacher had truly left the mob behind.

"Maybe," Chloe answered, "but I suspect that the closer Tony Zucco and Miss Bertinelli get to crossing paths, the greater the odds we're all going to regret that they ever set foot in Kansas."


	7. CH 7

(Torch office, Smallville)

Chloe admired the banner headline for the Torch: '_Crows break Grandville curse with V-ball Win!_' Her work on the student paper actually made her feel like a part of the student body. She had been unfairly blamed for all of the mob-related rumours and speculation surrounding Helena Bertinelli.

I didn't have to do a thing, she mused. The _Metropolis Inquisitor_ had sniffed around her Gotham ties and published ridiculous (and unproven) allegations about her. Some tabloids claimed that she was bent on revenge and searching for Tony Zucco. Others speculated that she was connected the New York mob and was sent to Metropolis to scout for new businesses, which could then become fronts for illegal casinos, massage parlours and other underworld activities. The _Daily Planet_ -- possibly pressured by Gotham-friendly businessmen who sat on its board of directors -- merely reported that the Zucco gang had begun to extend its influence to the Midwest.

Lana popped into the Torch office before her morning class. "This week's Torch looks great!" she beamed. She knew that Chloe had endured the wrath of the volleyball team and the other jocks, and she wanted to let her know that she wasn't alone.

"Well, it was a team effort," Chloe replied. "You took some fabulous pictures, and Clark actually managed to write a concise report -- while dodging Volleygirl Mindy's flirtatious spikes!" They shared a laugh, and for a moment it seemed like everything had returned to normal. But, the bandage wrapped around Chloe's left forearm was a constant reminder that nothing was ever 'normal' in Smallville.

There was a knock on the office door. "Good morning, Chloe, Lana," Lex greeted. Several days had passed, and the bandage on his right hand had become smaller.

The school's morning bell interrupted them. "Oh! I've got to go," Lana stated, "I've got French class now. _Au revoir, mes amis_!"

"_A bientot_, Mademoiselle Lang," Lex grinned. "See you later."

Chloe noticed that Lex seemed troubled. "If you're concerned that I'm digging into Tony Zucco's activities – I'm leaving that sordid mess to the heavy-hitters at the _Planet_." Lex ignored her reply and gently held up her bruised forearm.

"This should never have happened," Lex frowned. "I give you my word that something like this isn't going to happen to you again. Ever." He said that last word with such conviction, that Chloe felt reassured: Lex would do anything to keep her from harm.

"I assume you're not here to read about the Crows' upset victory over the Titans," Chloe observed. She had already shifted her concentration to her MS Word document.

"Zucco informed me that the Jazzman Syndicate has already set up shop in Metropolis," Lex cautioned. "He suspects that the attempted hit on that outlaw custodian a few days ago was directed at him. As a message."

"A message?" Chloe wondered. She tapped her pen against her cheek. "Legend has it that no one has ever seen '_The Jazzman_' in person. I assumed that he was just another hotshot wiseguy who wanted to make a name for himself. I thought his influence ended at the Appalachians."

Lex examined the yellowed articles on the Wall of Weird. "You're partly right, Chloe. He wanted to make a name for himself. But, The Jazzman was able to forge an unlikely alliance between old Anglo-Irish mobsters and the new thugs from Eastern Europe. It suggests that he's more than just a green rookie. Perhaps he was too ambitious back then, and underestimated Tony Zucco's tenacity and patience."

"If the Jazzman Syndicate has arrived in Metropolis," Chloe speculated, "then it looks like we're about to inherit Gotham City's underworld civil war!"

"I pray that you're wrong about that," Lex replied coolly. "Zucco's underworld ascendancy in Gotham City cost many lives. If Helena Bertinelli has less-than-honourable intentions in this town, it would be wise to find out about her agenda ... as soon as possible."

"I agree," Chloe nodded. "Still, I find it somewhat surprising that you were so quick to cast suspicions about her motives. She's not _Don_ Franco Bertinelli, but she is his daughter. I figured that you'd be an opponent of the 'sins-of-the-father-fall-upon-the-child' theory."

Lex smirked slightly, as he leafed through this week's Torch. "That's where you're wrong, Chloe. I've consciously made every effort to break my ties with my father's murky legacy. Helena Bertinelli chose to embrace her family heritage -- and its wealth. The sympathetic Gotham press barons might have portrayed her as a poor, misunderstood victim of crime, but I see no evidence that she merits such a glowing halo. Designer clothes and high-performance Italian sports cars can do much to skewer one's moral compass."

"Did you learn that from harsh, personal experience, Lex?" Chloe inquired, but Lex chose not to respond to Chloe's candid observation.

"Have you learned anything new about Smallville High's well-dressed volleyball coach?" Lex asked. He didn't notice Chloe's slightly raised eyebrow. The real reason for his visit, she had noted.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Chloe replied. "It's hard to separate fact from outlandish fiction. Take your pick: she's either a twisted assassin or a poor little orphan girl. The Gotham papers have buried the story in their back pages."

"Naturally," Lex grunted. He suspected that Bruce Wayne had exercised some clout over Gotham's press barons. It was beyond belief, he thought, that Bruce viewed Helena as a mere victim of circumstance.

"I could contact my source at the Lowell County sheriff's department," Chloe offered, "but I doubt that he'll have anything new. Miss Bertinelli's trail runs cold shortly after she went into hiding. The feds run the witness protection program, don't they?" She had hoped that Lex would pick up on her hint: the ball was now in his court.

Lex knew exactly what she had implied. "You're suggesting that I contact Special Agent Dinah Lance? I find it troubling that you have such a keen interest in friends from my past: Bruce, Oliver Queen, and Ms. Lance. Some closets are best left unopened, Miss Sullivan." The rebuke disturbed Chloe, and it almost seemed that he had lost confidence in her.

"I -- I didn't mean to suggest that --" she began, but Lex indicated that he wasn't concerned.

"I considered that option, actually," Lex revealed (to Chloe's relief). "Agent Lance was transferred out of D.C. earlier this year. She's stationed at the field office in Gotham City. If I can get a hold of her, maybe she can shed light on Helena's past movements. If this 'history teacher' has ties to the mob, we'll find out shortly."

"Well, that's a start," Chloe replied. Lex continued to pace around the office, as if he still had something on his mind. "Something bothering you, Lex?"

Lex picked up an old photo -- with him, Clark, Chloe, Pete, Lana, and Bruce Wayne in front of the Toronto skyline. Clark's friends had been in Toronto for a student government conference, when a terrorist had attacked the conference centre with poison gas. They had all worked together to foil that plot. They were friends, whose loyalties had been unquestioned. Pete Ross had left Smallville, and Lex was well aware that Clark's relationship with him had caused friction with Pete. At one time, Lex could count on Bruce's support -- with no reservations. That time has passed, he noted, and he feared that their tattered friendship could also fall to ruin.

"The true test of friendship is not during times of tranquility," Lex explained, "but in times of peril." He spun a globe of the world with his fingers, apparently oblivious to what he was doing. "This is one such time. I can no longer be sure that Bruce Wayne has our best interests at heart. I fear that, if it came to a choice between protecting us and defending his own reputation, he would place Gotham civic pride and Wayne honour above all else. I will do what I can -- but my friendship with Bruce is strained, to say the least."

Chloe thought about Pete's less-than-amicable departure from Smallville. Lex's friendship had affected Pete's relationship with Clark -- and before they could repair it, it was too late. She often wondered how hard it must have been for Pete to accept that his best friend had favoured Lex's friendship. Clark could trust Pete with almost anything, and despite some poor judgment calls, he always supported Clark. Now, Lex was facing similar tensions with Bruce Wayne (despite their common bonds and blueblood upbringing).

"I'm sorry to hear that," Chloe offered.

"So am I," Lex added. "I consider Bruce as a friend, even now. The day when I can no longer call him that will be a sad moment ... for both of us. I'll be in touch if I discover something new about Miss Bertinelli." Lex immediately left the Torch office.

Chloe studied the old photo from Toronto. She smiled at the camaraderie between Clark, Pete, Lex and Bruce. The bonds between them have changed so drastically, she pondered. She hoped that any trust issues between her and Clark wouldn't place their friendship in a similar, precarious position.

(The Talon, Smallville)

Lana placed a fresh cup of coffee and a buttered bagel on Helena's table. The student teacher was busily marking assignments for her American history class.

"Wow, that's a lot of assignments," Lana gasped. "I don't know how you find the time to mark them all at once!"

Helena sighed at the stack of papers. "I figured that if I did as many as possible before I commute to Metropolis, I could have them all done by the end of the week, and still have a semblance of a life when I get home. Anyway, I have TiVo, so hooray for TV-on-demand!"

Despite her growing suspicions about Miss Bertinelli, Lana convinced herself that her history teacher was just that: a teacher. If she were a mob heiress on the warpath, why would she cloister herself in the Talon to mark assignments?

Lauren, a chestnut-haired waitress (and Lana's classmate from French class), came over to Lana with a tray of dishes.

"I know we're a little understaffed tonight," Lauren stated, "so if you'd like, I could fill-in for the evening shift? I could use the extra hours."

"That would be great!" Lana beamed. The wall clock indicated that it was five minutes to six. "The after-work crowd will be coming in soon, and I could really use the help."

A few blocks away, Clark parked the pick-up truck in a parking lot and placed the time card in the windshield. He had completed his after-school chores and was looked forward to a milkshake at the Talon. Chloe had told him about Lex's unexpected admission about his fraying relationship with Bruce Wayne. It troubled him that one of his friends had to go through what he had experienced during Pete's last few weeks in Smallville. I could have done more to let Pete know how much his friendship meant to me, he lamented. It may already be too late to fix things.

There was a screech of tires, as a large black van turned a corner. One of its darkened windows was open, and Clark heard two men arguing in a foreign language. It sounded Eastern European to him. The van stopped at a red light and Clark ducked into an alleyway. He tuned his enhanced hearing to their conversation.

"_Nyet_. This is bad idea," one voice grumbled in broken, accented English. "He is under Zucco's protection!"

"The Jazzman say we send message," another voice growled. "So we send message!"

The light turned green and the van slowly turned onto the main street, towards the Talon. It accelerated until it arrived within two blocks. One of the men, with a balaclava over his face, flung open the van's sliding door. Another man in a black, woollen cap pointed an Uzi at the Talon and fired several shots.

The shots shattered the Talon's front windows and doors. Slivers of glass showered the dining area. Helena's jumped over the table and smothered Lana's body, as her stack of graded assignments flew across the floor. There were several, '_tat-a-tat_' bursts of gunfire. She cradled Lana and dragged her behind a concrete pillar. They heard a man scream in agony as one bullet strafed across his leg. There was another shriek -- this time, a girl's voice.

Clark raced across five blocks in an instant. He spotted the smashed windows of the Talon and he immediately feared for Lana's safety. The gunner had closed the sliding door and the van began to accelerate erratically. They would surely escape before the sheriff arrived.

The street appeared to be deserted, which gave Clark the opportunity to dash within a few feet of the van. He grabbed the rear fender and lifted the van's rear several feet above the pavement. He heard panicked cries from within, while the front tires squealed helplessly on the road until they burst. Clark dropped the van, which careened out of control until it collided into a steel garbage bin. In the distance, he heard the sheriff's sirens.

"Lana," he gasped, and sprinted into the Talon.

"Clark!" Lana leapt from behind the pillar and embraced him. "There were shots everywhere!" She looked in horror at the debris and carnage on the floor. One man's leg was bleeding, while flying glass cut another two patrons. Chairs and tables were overturned. She spotted a girl underneath a dining table.

"Lauren, no!" she shrieked. Clark pulled the unconscious girl away from the rubble, while Lana rested the girl's head on her lap.

Clark checked Lauren's wound. "It's bad, Lana. She's losing blood. We've got to call an ambulance!" Several police cars and an ambulance arrived outside the Talon's broken windows.

Helena gazed in disbelief. She wanted to believe that she had left this underworld violence behind in Gotham's horrid streets. The violence merely followed her; she could never escape it.

"Let me apply some pressure on that wound," Helena offered, and she reached out with a tea cloth.

Lana turned violently away from her. "I don't want you anywhere near her!" she sobbed hysterically. "Haven't you done enough harm already?"

"Lana," Clark protested, "we don't know who's responsible yet. Zucco's rivals know that Lex has sided with him. He's known to be associated with the Talon. It's not Miss Bertinelli's fault!"

Lana glowered angrily at Helena. "I wanted to believe that you had left your past behind in Gotham. Maybe Lex was right! Now, Lauren's paying the price for my foolishness. To think that I could actually trust a mobster's daughter!"

"Lana -- I," Helena mumbled quietly. She didn't know what to say. Maybe her presence was such a threat that Zucco orchestrated this attack. Or, Zucco's rivals wanted to intimidate Lex into breaking his partnership with Zucco's unions.

"Get off ... my property ... now!" Lana snarled, between sobs. The paramedics carefully placed Lauren onto a stretcher and wheeled her away.

Helena quickly collected her things, with tears streaming across her cheeks. Before she could leave, Sheriff Adams grabbed her arm.

"Hold it there, missy," the sheriff remarked. "Y'all are witnesses – especially you, Ms. _Dolce & Gabbana_!"

"But Sheriff Adams," Clark protested, "she had nothing to do with this. You'll find the guys who did this a few blocks down. Their van ...uh ... crashed."

The sheriff, who had been accustomed to Kent involvement in Smallville's mishaps, examined the debris and the remaining Talon patrons. "I'm way ahead of you, Mr. Kent. I assume you saw what transpired here, too? I'll be taking statements from everyone." She took off her Stetson and glared at Helena. "And until I'm convinced you had no involvement whatsoever in the county jail shooting and this little incident, I'll be keepin' a close eye on you, Ms. Bertinelli! This isn't Gotham City. You're in God's country now -- we respect law and order 'round these parts."

"We'll find out who did this," Clark tried to reassure Lana.

"Why do you keep defending her?" Lana demanded. "Chloe was right. Trouble arrived the moment Miss Bertinelli and Tony Zucco arrived in Kansas! She's a danger to the entire town. I'm going to sign that petition to have her removed from Smallville High!" Before Clark could stop her, she stormed through the Talon's shattered front door.

Clark watched as the deputies began to collect evidence from the scene, including the scattered history assignments. Maybe Miss Bertinelli was the intended target, or was the attack meant to scare Lex into backing away from Tony Zucco? It made no sense to him. It would be hard to fathom that Lex could continue his "business association" with Zucco after this disaster.

For the first time, Clark entertained the possibility that Miss Bertinelli's notorious past may have caught up with her.


	8. CH 8

(Kent farm, Smallville)

Clark closed the door behind him. The sun had already set in the county. The tranquility of the dusk hours seemed out-of-place. It was a catastrophic day. The Talon was strewn with debris and bullet shells. Clark's quick actions probably saved many lives, but two people were still hurt. One of them – Lana's classmate, Lauren – was still in the hospital in critical condition.

Martha leapt from the kitchen table and hugged her son. "Oh, Clark! It was all over the news. They said some people were hurt …"

Clark was visibly shaken. He expected mob activity in the grittier streets of Metropolis, but not here. It was too close to home. "One guy was shot in the leg, but the doctors said it was only a flesh wound. He'll be released in the morning." Clark took a seat at the kitchen table, while Martha placed a glass of water in front of him. "It all happened so fast. One minute, I was lifting a van by its rear fender. The next minute … I was in the middle of the Talon. There was so much blood! Lana's classmate from French class … Lauren. The doc in the O.R. said they had to induce a coma. She lost a lot of blood."

Martha covered her mouth in horror. "Oh my God. Is Lana …"

"She – she's alright. The witnesses say Miss Bertinelli shielded her with her own body. But, Lana, Sheriff Adams and half the town now think she and Zucco are going to settle scores right here in Smallville! I don't know who or what to believe at this point."

Martha placed her hand on Clark's arm. "I realize you want to believe that Helena Bertinelli had the best of intentions when she arrived here. But, maybe Lex has a point. For someone who claims to have no connections to the Gotham mob, she seems to have embraced all of its trappings: the fancy clothes, the fast cars and Cartier watches. Now that Tony Zucco's in town, who knows what she might do!"

"If that were the case," Clark protested, "then why would Miss Bertinelli go through all the trouble of becoming a student teacher? Why volunteer to coach the girls' volleyball team?" Before Martha could answer, they heard the rumble of Jonathan Kent's pick-up truck.

When Jonathan arrived in the house, he embraced Clark. "Son, when I heard what happened at the Talon, I came back as soon as I could. The radio said that a girl from Smallville High was shot?"

"Lana's classmate," Clark confirmed. He turned up the Metropolis six o'clock TV news:

_'… the Lowell County sheriff's department confirms that three suspects were apprehended at the scene, after their getaway van crashed into a dumpster during their escape. Two bystanders, including Smallville High honour student Lauren Morris, have been admitted to Smallville Medical with gunshot wounds. The Metropolis detachment of the FBI will not confirm or deny that the alleged gunmen are associates of the notorious Jazzman Syndicate, an underworld player in Gotham City's recent gangland slayings. We continue to follow further developments …'_

"I heard the gunmen," Clark admitted. "They said The Jazzman wanted to send a message." He noticed that his father had a clipboard with a long list of names. "What's that, Dad?"

"Clark, I know you won't like this," Jonathan explained, "but that attack on Chloe in the Ledger, and the county jail shooting – well, they disturbed me. Not just me, but a whole lot of people in town." He cleared his throat, aware that Clark would not like the news. "I've decided to put together a parents' petition, requesting that the school board remove Miss Bertinelli from her teaching assignment at Smallville High. I've already talked to Lana's aunt, Mr. Sullivan and the other parents."

"But, Dad –" Clark began, but Jonathan shook his head defiantly. "I just told you that The Jazzman Syndicate was behind the attack. The shooting at the county jail – it had to be The Jazzman's goons, too! They want to send Zucco a message. Miss Bertinelli's got nothing to do with what happened at the Talon!"

"Maybe so," Jonathan replied. "But what happened at the Talon – her family's been in organized crime since the time of Lucky Luciano. You've seen what Gotham City's become. Do you want the mob to turn our town into an urban nightmare?" Lauren's school photo appeared on the TV news. "How many more kids are going to get caught in the crossfire? First, it was Chloe. Next, it could be Lana Lang or some other student. Lana agrees with me, Clark! So do most of the parents."

Clark slumped on the kitchen chair in disbelief. "I thought we agreed as a family that we were going to give my teacher the benefit of the doubt."

"That 'benefit of the doubt' had limits," Jonathan insisted. "When a girl from your school is lying in coma because of some blood feud between Zucco and The Jazzman, I have to draw the line somewhere!" He stood at the window and observed the thinning sliver of red sunlight on the horizon. He had to fight to protect everything he cherished about this law-abiding community. If it meant that a "reformed" mob heiress lost her teaching job at Smallville High, then he was prepared to live with that price.

"The PTA meets tomorrow night," Jonathan revealed, "where we'll plan our next move. The school board is going to hold an emergency session to address this situation. Somehow, we'll bring this chaos to an end. This might be hard to accept – but for once, I actually agree with Lex Luthor! Why should we have to deal with Gotham's exported social problems? Bruce values your opinion. Maybe if you talk to him, you could convince him that we're serious …"

"Bruce wants no part of this," Clark grunted, "and I'm not surprised, since everyone wants to paint all of Gotham City with the same brush. You forget that Bruce was a victim of crime, too. He wanted to give Miss Bertinelli a break because she's suffered the same pain he's been through!"

"But, unlike her," Jonathan snapped, "Bruce Wayne is from a well-respected family, with a legitimate fortune. Look, this is not up for discussion, Clark. The petition goes forward. End of story! Your mother and I only want what's best for the community, even if it means defying Mr. Wayne's wishes." To emphasize his determination, he immediately signed his name on the petition. The Lang and Sullivan signatures – among others – were already there. He handed the clipboard to Martha, who hesitated. Clark's saddened expression seemed to plead: _Don't do it, Mom_.

Martha thought of the poor girl who lay in a coma. It could have easily been Lana, Chloe or another classmate of Clark's. "I remember reading about how Tony Zucco clawed his way up to become Gotham's kingpin," Martha explained, as she signed her name on the petition. "I don't want that sort of senseless violence in Smallville."

Jonathan took the clipboard and placed it on the kitchen table. "Son, you know it's best for the town," he remarked.

"You also thought it was 'best' to convince the Rosses to sell their factory to Lionel Luthor," Clark recalled.

"That was out of line," Martha declared, but Clark had already stormed out of the door. "He's upset, dear. He didn't really mean it."

"I think he might, Martha," Jonathan winced. "He won't admit it, but he holds me partially responsible for alienating Pete Ross. Lionel might have wronged the Rosses all those years ago, but I opened the door." He studied the growing list of names on the petition, convinced that it was the right thing to do. Meteor freaks and Luthor schemes plagued the town … but mob warfare on Smallville's main street? It was unacceptable.

Gotham's problems don't have to be Smallville's, he thought. The town deserved a better fate than that, and Clark and his friends deserve to live in a safer community.

(Luthor Estate, Smallville)

Chloe opened the double, wood-panelled doors to Lex's office. The marble bust of Alexander the Great hovered menacingly behind Lex's shoulder. "Hold my calls," Lex instructed on his phone. "I have a visitor."

Chloe settled into the chair beside the desk. "I've been scouring the _Gotham Post_'s online archives for hours. It seems like this Jazzman's no rookie in the arts of racketeering, extortion and assassinations – not to mention some rather icky sidelines in the body rub parlour industry!"

"Rumour has it that The Jazzman cut his teeth as an enforcer for the Atlantic City casino bosses," Lex added. "Mr. Zucco's never met him, but word on the street is that the Syndicate lacks the finesse of Gotham's more established mob families. The Syndicate trades in illegal aliens: women from the Far East and former East Bloc to staff their 'holistic health spas'. They come here in search of the American dream, only to find a nightmare. Zucco has promised that he'll put an end to the illegal trafficking."

"Why is that," Chloe challenged. "So he can run his own monopoly of 'health spas'? You've heard what happened at the Talon … and you're telling me that you're still taking advice from Gotham's chief crimelord?"

"_Men are more easily governed by their vices, than by their virtues_," Lex replied. "Napoleon ruled Europe from Spain to the gates of Moscow on such wisdom. Tony Zucco understands that the world is awash in shades of grey. The Jazzman's henchmen are a melting pot of Iron Curtain thugs and ex-Red Army types who lack the savvy required in this complicated age. The Talon incident is regrettable, but if Tony Zucco says it's taken care of, it will be taken care of. We have an understanding – that's all you need to know."

"Okay," Chloe paused suspiciously. The Luthor Commerce Square project must be important to him, she thought. "Setting aside my awkward thoughts of a Luthor-Zucco partnership for the moment. You mentioned something on the phone about Miss Bertinelli's past?"

Lex presented her with a couriered document, entitled: _FBI profile – Organized Crime Unit_. "Agent Lance was able to obtain this sanitized report about Helena's movement since the All Saints' Day massacre. Dinah's access is limited: she's with Missing Persons at the Gotham unit." The document had several sections blotted out in black.

Chloe examined the document. "The timeline is choppy … but it seems that Miss Bertinelli and her bodyguard continued to stay in touch with her father's friends in the West Coast: brief stops in Colorado, New Mexico, and not surprisingly, in Nevada. It says here that her bodyguard obtained a permit for firearms under an assumed name in Reno, when Miss Bertinelli would have been 16. It says later than she obtained her own firearms permit back east when she turned 19. In all that time, she's used more aliases than Sydney Bristow!"

"All of this questionable activity," Lex announced smugly, "from a mere high school teacher? She saw her parents slaughtered before her eyes. Something like that doesn't leave a person's mind easily. As a friend of Bruce Wayne, I can tell you that it condemns the survivor to a lifetime of anguish. She would have been raised to believe that revenge is the only way to satisfy her sense of mob honour."

Chloe set down the FBI document. "This only proves that Miss Bertinelli hung around a rough crowd and owns a handgun. It casts her in a suspicious light, but it's hardly definitive proof that she's taking up Bertinelli Senior's mob mantle!"

"Well, these suspicions seem to be proof enough for Smallville's families," Lex replied. "Jonathan Kent tells me that most of the PTA is on-board with this petition to oust Helena from her teaching placement."

"I don't think we're blindly casting stones," Chloe explained. "Once the school board sees how many parents and students are concerned about Miss Bertinelli's past history, they'll have no choice but to agree. Not even Mr. Wayne's considerable influence can thwart the will of the people."

"Shades of grey, Ms. Sullivan, remember?" Lex quipped. "Democracy doesn't always trump political influence. Mark my words: if Bruce Wayne decides to wade into this school board snafu, the will of the people will count for little."

Chloe paced around the room and studied the artifacts: cavalry swords from the Napoleonic Wars, a Roman soldier's helmet from Britain, and medieval gauntlets from the Hundred Years War. "You almost sound like you're expecting a fight from Wayne Manor."

Lex took the Roman helmet from the shelf. "When Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon River into Italy, he knew that he had launched a civil war against his friend, Pompey, at great risk. _'The die is cast,'_ Caesar declared. It was a gamble, but he prevailed. Rome was his prize. While I don't believe that this petition is going to test my friendship with Bruce, I don't discount the possibility that our Rubicon is just beyond the horizon."

Chloe tried to grasp what Lex was saying. Did he really want the PTA to prevail, or did he want this rare opportunity to cause the mighty Wayne Foundation to lose face in public?

"And what happened to Caesar's friend, Pompey?" Chloe inquired.

"Caesar pursued him to the shores of Egypt," Lex replied. He abruptly handed the battered Roman helmet to Chloe. "The Egyptians handed him Pompey's severed head, as a gift. Caesar was probably going there to pardon him. He was said to weep at the sight of his dead friend. I don't relish a skirmish with Bruce, but we may have one, nonetheless."

Chloe carefully returned the helmet to its display stand. She didn't think that Lex's friendship with Bruce had reached any Rubicon – yet. They took opposing positions on the Bertinelli affair, and it was anyone's guess how the school board meeting would unfold. The Talon shootings had enraged the townspeople. The situation was volatile. Lex might win points by supporting the parents, but Lex could risk his reputation if he appeared to openly favour Zucco's foothold in Metropolis. Such a stand would place him squarely against Helena's sympathizers – led by the increasingly political Bruce Wayne.

By week's end, somebody's head is going to be on a platter, she concluded.


	9. CH 9

(Luthor Commerce Square development, Metropolis financial district)

Lex arrived at the construction site in his sleek, silver Mercedes-Benz E500. Despite his protests, Tony Zucco insisted that two of his associates would escort him from the Luthor estate. They had followed him from Smallville in a plain, black sedan. He stepped out of his car and put on his sunglasses.

The Luthor Commerce Square development would be back on schedule. Zucco delivered on his word. The Labourers' Brotherhood worked double shifts, as Zucco pulled additional workers from other projects. Lex beamed as one of the workers, busily rattling the ground with his jackhammer, stopped his work and tipped his construction hat to greet him.

Louie, the large associate who was fascinated with Blackberry devices, sprinted back to the sedan. "Uh, Mr. Luthor? Mr. Zucco says ya gotta wear one of these hats. Stuff's flyin' all over the place, y'know."

Lex placed the construction helmet on his head. (He had already sacrificed fashion sense when he put on a pair of worn, steel-toed construction boots.) "The steel-toed boots don't quite go with Hugo Boss, but it's safety first, right?" He noticed that both Louie and the other associates had gun holsters beneath their blazers. "I appreciate the protection, but it wasn't necessary."

"The boss insisted," Louie mumbled as he chomped on a candy bar. "The Talon thing really got under his collar." A worker started up a noisy sander, which startled him. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... it's like a war zone out here!"

Lex smirked. He found it amusing that a gangster in Zucco's mob would be rattled by construction machinery. They stepped around a pile of metal pipes and a random stack of plywood to reach the white trailer, which served as the site's main office.

Zucco stepped out from the office. "Louie, would ya stop fillin' your face and get Mr. Luthor a coffee? Guests come first, remember?"

"Right away, boss," Louie blurted. "How would you like it, Mr. Luthor? They got a fine hazelnut coffee at the catering truck. How about a Boston Cream -- you know, for munching?"

Lex had grown accustomed to some of Zucco's associates, and there were times when he almost forgot that they were the foot soldiers in Gotham City's relentless mob wars. "The coffee sounds great. But, I'll stick to the bran muffin." He leaned closer to Louie. "I'll need to watch what I eat if I'm going to keep this development on-track." Louie gave him the thumbs-up sign and raced towards the catering truck.

Zucco pulled his own chair from behind the desk and offered it to Lex. "Here, you can have my chair, Lex. It's got that back support -- ergonomics and such." Lex tried to study Tony Zucco's expression. He seemed to be going out of his way to be friendly to him. Either Zucco considered him as a friend, or the mob boss was bracing him for bad news. The recent news reports confirmed that the gunmen were members of The Jazzman Syndicate. As a man who valued loyalty above all, Zucco would consider an assault against a Luthor-connected establishment as an attack directed at him.

Louie returned with a cup of hazelnut coffee and a bran muffin. He even brought a little package of margarine. "The knife, Louie," Zucco groaned. "Mr. Luthor can't put the margarine on the muffin without one."

Louie slapped his forehead in dismay. "Knife, knife. Right."

"That's fine, Louie," Lex replied. He sipped the coffee and savoured its warmth and aroma. "It's all good." Zucco indicated with his eyes that Louie should leave the office immediately, and Louie quickly exited and scrambled down the trailer's steps.

"The contractors are on the way," Zucco reassured Lex, anticipating that the visit was about the Talon attack. "We'll have all the windows and the door replaced. End of the week, tops."

"That wasn't necessary," Lex stated. He didn't want to feel obligated to Zucco any more than he needed to.

"Hey, I look out for friends," Zucco replied. He went over to the spring water dispenser and poured himself a cup. "If the Jazzman thinks he can do what he did last night -- he's in for a rude awakening. I swear on my grandfather's grave, he'll pay!" Suddenly, he became enraged and tossed the paper cup at the trailer's window. "No one treats a friend of mine like that. No one!"

"Calm down, Tony," Lex said. He felt uncomfortable that they were now on a first-name basis. He always wanted to be the dominant party in any partnership, and he wasn't certain that was the case with Zucco. "The FBI have taken custody of the assailants. They can't harm you -- or me -- any more."

Zucco raised his hands in apology for his outburst. "These goons of the Syndicate ... they've got no class. And no honour! They think they can piss on my name, with no response from me! They'll learn soon enough." Zucco uttered that last sentence with such finality that it made Lex shiver. Did Tony say what I think he said?

"Metropolis is not Gotham City, as I've told you," Lex declared curtly. "There is no place for that sort of mob violence. I won't tolerate it in Smallvile -- and I will not condone it in Metropolis. Ever." Lex considered that now was the best time to apply pressure on Zucco to keep his end of the bargain. "Helena Bertinelli was in the Talon at the time of the shooting. Is that fact going to be an issue?"

Zucco peered out of the trailer's window. "She wasn't hurt, was she?" Lex sensed from Zucco's tone that he wasn't concerned about her safety; he only wanted to confirm that she was alive.

"A girl from Smallville High and another bystander were shot," Lex explained. "The girl is in a coma. If you take your fight to The Jazzman in this city, you'll turn the whole county -- if not the state -- against you. That will reflect on me, and that is unacceptable! It would be a breach of our agreement. I would have to do what I need to do to protect my reputation. We know who would prevail in such a contest ... and we both don't want that to happen!" Lex hoped that his firmness would demonstrate to Zucco that Luthors carry out their threats.

Zucco grinned at Lex's tenacity. "That's why I like you so much, Lex! You don't take crap. There's no need for any hostilities here. I said I'm taking care of the Syndicate, and I meant it! Don't worry -- none of it will get back to you, or me. This is what The Jazzman lacks: finesse. There are ways, Mr. Luthor, of taking care of business without lifting a finger."

"What are you saying?" Lex demanded. "You're not going to do a thing about the Talon shootings? The Jazzman humiliated me in Smallville. Everyone in town is ready to blame me along with the Syndicate for the increase in violence! Surely, you're going to send him a message that he can't do that!"

Zucco raised a finger to silence his protests. "You didn't 'listen' to what I just said. I said I'll take care of business. You're aware of the Passion of the Christ?"

"Jesus Christ's arrest, condemnation and crucifixion," Lex stated. "One of the central themes of Western civilization. I'm not about to take a theology lesson from someone who's likely beyond God's good graces. What's your point, Tony?"

Tony walked over to a nearby sink and washed his hands. "See what I'm doing? Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, knew that if 'he' didn't allow Christ's crucifixion that he might instigate a riot directed at the Roman authorities. He had no evidence to convict Our Lord, yet the people demanded his death. So he washed his hands of the affair. He released a rebel instead, and let the rabble themselves crucify Christ."

He placed his hands in his blazer pockets. "My point, Mr. Luthor, is that you can condemn a man without doing a thing. Finesse, as I explained. The six o'clock news will be interesting today. You've got my word on that."

Lex thought about the cryptic warning, but he figured that it was best that he didn't know. Without warning, he heard the 'click' of a pistol being cocked behind his head.

"One other thing, Lex," Zucco sneered. "Our relationship is based on mutual respect. I don't question your motives, you don't question mine. I don't ask about your beef with Lionel, you don't ask about Franco Bertinelli. You take pride in being a man who believes in nothing; I am a man of beliefs. A man of faith. That's how I was raised! Question my faith in my presence again -- and I swear, by heaven, I'll put a bullet in your head."

Lex realized that he was no longer in control of the situation, and he considered that he might have underestimated his own ability to manage Zucco. The mob boss was right: this partnership would never work if it weren't one between equals. To trust Gotham's underworld kingpin was unthinkable, but it was necessary. The issue was mutual survival: they needed each other to make this project work.

Lex took hold of his panic, and concentrated on what he would say next. "I never meant to disparage your beliefs, Mr. Zucco. A man of conviction is someone to be respected in this world. If I had caused you any offense, then I apologize. It was never my intent to mock your faith."

Zucco lowered his pistol and holstered in beneath his jacket. "Thank you. It means a lot that you apologized. A man who lacks humility can't be trusted. I see that I can trust you." He extended his hand in friendship, oblivious to the irony that he had threatened Lex's life a minute ago.

Let the dance continue, Lex smirked. He realized that he would need a thick skin if he were to achieve the greatness that he desired. "Then our arrangement stands," Lex shook Zucco's hand, without any expression. "As partners on an equal footing."

"I've got to review the tower's electrical wiring schematics," Zucco stated. "Get Louie to escort you back to Smallville. Sit tight, Lex. Watch the news tonight, and you'll know that I'm a man of my word. Good day to you."

Louie, munching on a sloppy Boston Cream donut, caught up with Lex at the site's parking lot. "Mr. Luthor ... the boys and me are sorry about that girl who got hurt at the Talon. She ain't got nothin' to do with The Jazzman's beef with us. Don't worry. The boss says he'll take care of business, and he will!"

As Lex drove away from Metropolis -- closely followed by his mob escort -- he shuddered at his near-death encounter with Zucco. In his quest to test Zucco's sensitivity about the Bertinellis, Lex had accidentally insulted his honour (as defined by the mob). If it's loyalty that he values most, Lex grinned, then it is the use of loyalty which will -- one day -- give me the leverage to dictate the terms of their "arrangement". A Luthor is subordinate to none; Tony Zucco will learn that someday.

(Smallville Medical Center)

Clark entered the intensive care wing. Jonathan, Martha and Lana waited in the pastel-coloured lounge.

"How's Lauren doing?" Clark inquired. He didn't look at his father because he was still irritated that he was going forward with the school board petition.

"The doctors say there's nothing more they can do," Lana replied tearfully. "There was just too much internal bleeding. Her parents are talking to the surgeons now."

Jonathan warily approached his son. "Uh, Clark?"

Clark glared at him. "I'm not going to sign that stupid petition. I'm just as mad as you are that the Gotham mob is using our town as their shooting gallery, but you're condemning the wrong person! I'm prepared to be the only person sitting behind her table at the board meeting, if necessary."

"Fair enough," Jonathan replied. It pained him that the mob violence had divided his family. "I just wanted to let you know … I got a call earlier at the house. From Pete Ross."

"Pete?" Clark blurted. "What did he say? How's he doing?"

"He's fine," Jonathan answered. "Wichita seems to suit him. He was asking about you actually. He heard about the Talon shootings, and he wanted to check if everyone was alright."

"Oh," Clark felt bad about missing Pete's phone call. "I wish I could have talked to him. He must have been worried." All of us took him for granted, Clark thought. He deserved to be treated more fairly. "Did he say when he's going to visit? Maybe we could catch up, perhaps invite him over for dinner?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Before I could extend any sort of invitation, he said he was busy. Then he hung up. We owe him a lot more than just a dinner plate."

Martha patted her husband's shoulder. "Don't be so harsh with yourself, Jonathan. We made choices in the past that we regret. We can't predict the future. What matters is what we do to help others, here and now." She was cautious not to elaborate, since Lana was still nearby.

Jonathan abruptly stood up. "But the problem is that others now have to live with the consequences of our mistakes. I need to step outside for some air. Excuse me."

"Dad, I didn't mean to be hard on you earlier …" Clark began, but Jonathan had already walked through the sliding exit doors. With the mob violence, Lana's classmate on death's door, and the unresolved issues with the Rosses, he felt constricted and helpless. His super abilities, it seemed, were useless when they mattered most. "Excuse me," Clark muttered. "I need to get a coffee or something."

Minutes later, he paced around the medical center. An orderly wheeled a gurney towards an elevator. In another room, a mother comforted her little boy. I'm no hero, Clark thought. All of my abilities, and I can't even prevent a bullet from hurting an innocent girl. He wondered how these doctors and nurses coped with all of the suffering and death. He hoped that he would someday find the inner strength to face such turmoil.

He peeked in another room. It was the medical center's chapel: a blue pastel room with a dozen pews, two stained-glass windows and a plain iron cross on the far wall. He thought it was empty, but in one pew he spotted a dark-haired woman kneeling in front of the altar. She clutched rosary beads in her hand, fervently uttering a prayer:

"… _To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve!  
To thee do we send up our sighs; mourning and weeping in this valley of tears!_ …"

"I didn't mean to interrupt, miss ..." Clark coughed. Then he realized that the woman was Miss Bertinelli, dressed in a smart, but plain, black pantsuit. She ignored Clark to complete her prayer: "…_Oh clement, oh loving, oh sweet Virgin Mary. Amen._"

"That's a beautiful prayer, Miss Bertinelli," Clark offered.

"It's Hail Holy Queen," Helena stated, holding up her rosary. "A Catholic thing, but I guess you wouldn't know about all that in these parts. I wanted to do something, so I came here to pray for Lauren's recovery."

Clark's mournful expression indicated that Lauren wasn't doing well at all. "The doctors said there was too much bleeding. She's hanging on by a thread. How are you holding up?"

"The teachers' union gave me the heads-up about the PTA's petition, and they've offered representation," Helena revealed. "The board has – politely – asked me not to come into class until we've resolved this situation. I don't care what happens to me – if Lauren pulls through, that's all that matters. It wasn't her fault. I should have been the one in the ICU." She seemed oddly serene, despite the chaos which surrounded her.

"You don't mean that," Clark offered.

"Well, this poor banished child of Eve's got a lot to answer for," Helena remarked. "I'm no saint, and I'll admit that. But I'm no mobster. If anyone hates the Gotham mob for what they've done, it's me! They killed my parents, and I will never forgive them for that!" She mumbled under her breath: _And I'm going to do something about it_. What she didn't count on was Clark's enhanced hearing.

Before Clark could process what he overheard, a blue siren wailed on all floors. "Code Blue. ICU. Code Blue. ICU."

Clark and Helena ran out of the chapel, and towards the intensive care wing. When they arrived, Jonathan and Martha were embracing each other in sorrow. Lana tried in vain to comfort Mrs. Morris, Lauren's mother. Mr. Morris, who was still in his three-piece suit, ran his hand helplessly through his hair.

In the ICU, a surgeon frantically applied CPR on Lauren. The heart rate monitor continued to screech: flatline. In moments, the surgeon left the ICU and removed his hairnet. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Morris. She fought as hard as she could, but the trauma was too much. I'm sorry." Mrs. Morris shrieked in despair, while Jonathan and Martha tried to comfort them.

In anger, Helena flung her rosary onto the floor. She wanted to cry, but she was long past sorrow. She wanted to stop the suffering, and the cause of that suffering was Tony Zucco – the moment he arrived in Metropolis to pollute the city with his extortion and racketeering schemes. Full of remorse, she quickly scooped up her rosary. "Forgive me, Blessed Mother." She gently kissed the rosary's crucifix.

"You didn't mean it," Clark observed. "Everybody's on edge because of what happened at the Talon."

"I shouldn't have been angry at God," Helena noted. "He didn't kill Lauren Morris: Zucco's war with the Syndicate did. Zucco will answer for it -- somehow." Reluctantly, she placed the rosary beads in Clark's palm and folded his hands around them. "Keep them safe, Clark Kent. They were blessed in Rome. I'll be in need of extra prayers." She was about to leave, when Lana noticed her from afar. She left the Morris family and stormed towards her.

She glared at Clark. "What is she doing here?"

With a determined gaze, Helena brushed past Lana and left for the parking lot. She wasn't about to explain or justify herself to the townspeople who wanted to condemn her. Soon, they heard the growl of Helena's Lamborghini as it scorched away from the medical center.

"She was praying for Lauren's well-being in the chapel," Clark snarled. "If you want to blame her for being a Bertinelli, there's no stopping you. If you're angry because the mob is tearing this town apart, then I'm right there with you. But if you think that justifies destroying Miss Bertinelli's teaching career, then you and the rest of this town are mistaken!"

"So you're not going to sign the petition?" Lana was stunned. "You'd rather side with a mob heiress than our own neighbours?"

"I hate what the mob's doing to our town," Clark insisted, "but I'm not going to let all the fear-mongering ruin a good person's name! If we allow that to happen … then the mob has already won. Tony Zucco and Lex Luthor are business partners: does that mean you're siding with Zucco by default?"

"Of course not," Lana declared. She hesitated. The Talon had been targeted because of its Luthor association, and Lex's alliance with Zucco.

"The Jazzman seems to think otherwise," Clark snapped, and he left before Lana could respond.

Clark used his super speed to race home. He stopped in the darkness outside the Kent farm. He wanted to believe that he was right about Helena Bertinelli, but she seemed livid at the medical center. She appeared to be a person torn between peace and despair. He could sympathize with his teacher's plight: he stood alone against the town over the PTA petition.

Why did Miss Bertinelli give me her rosary beads, Clark wondered. It puzzled him.

She's going to put up a fight at that board meeting, he concluded, and so will I. I have friends of influence, too. If the PTA was going to leverage Lex Luthor's clout to force through this petition, then he intended to even the odds.

In his loft, he dialed his phone: "Hello? Alfred? It's Clark Kent. Yeah, Lauren passed away tonight. It's so unfair! I don't know what to do, but I have to do something …"


	10. CH 10

(The Torch office, Smallville High)

The office was unusually silent. And it was driving Chloe nuts. It was the night before this week's edition went to the printer. On most days, the scene could be described as organized chaos: Chloe would track the progress of the writers, the layout editor and the pre-press production. Frantic chatter would fill the room as the writers and graphic designers struggled to prepare another edition of the Torch.

Tonight, there was none of that. It was silence, Chloe observed, punctuated by intermittent periods of pointless bickering over the "Helena affair". Clark quietly typed his story about the cafeteria's new vegetarian lunch menu. Lana sat across from Chloe's desk, ignoring Clark and digitally cropping this edition's photos on her computer.

"Did you get around to taking photos of the cafeteria during lunch?" Clark announced in an irritated tone. Another intermittent period of bickering is about to be punctuated, Chloe sighed to herself.

Lana pretended not to hear Clark's demand, then abruptly spun her chair around to face Clark. "Yours isn't the only story I had to take photos for," Lana remarked impatiently. "They're on the server. You'll find them _there_."

"You're the acting photo editor," Clark argued. "Isn't photo selection your responsibility?"

"When you get around to finishing your story," Lana replied angrily, "maybe then I'll have _something_ to work with. We're on a deadline you know!"

"If you're going to make this about Helena again –" Clark blurted, but he didn't finish his sentence. Chloe slammed a stapler loudly on her desk in disgust.

"Okay, that's enough!" Chloe barked. "If I have to hear another five minutes of this, my reactor is going to hit critical mass!"

"But, Lana –" Clark began to protest, but Chloe's icy glare quickly muzzled him. Lana merely sneered at Clark from behind her monitor.

"I'm short of hands as it is," Chloe explained. "Ashley's 'Cheerleader Diary' is on the backburner, due to some pom-pom arm injury – whatever that means. Victor's weekly article is on permanent hiatus … he said something about the feds seizing his hard drive for hacking into the Pentagon's intranet …" It was upsetting to see her best friends bicker over Helena, the Zucco mob and the tragic shooting at the Talon. A part of her wished that Lex had never met Zucco … and that Helena Bertinelli had never come to Smallville. Those events were beyond her control, but Smallville High's parents were going to do something about it tomorrow night.

_Shades of grey_, Lex had cautioned her. Would Bruce Wayne interfere in the school board hearing, or would the PTA be able to defy him and remove Miss Bertinelli from the classroom?

"Right now you're the only people I can count on," Chloe continued (half-amazed that she was lecturing her friends). "Who I need to count on. I can't do it alone. For now, we can agree to disagree about everything 'Helena'. Please, can we set that aside, and let's concentrate on putting out the Torch. Hundreds of students, parents and teachers read our paper every week, and we can't let them down, even if our town's in a mess right now …" Chloe's voice trailed off. _A girl was shot to death at the Talon, in their hometown!_ Clark and Lana noticed that Chloe seemed less strong-willed this whole week. She kept a level head throughout these crises, despite her own brush with death in the Ledger archives. The Torch was the constant in her life. Their squabbling threatened to take that source of strength away from her.

"Chloe, I'm sorry," Lana offered. "I didn't mean to burden you with more mob craziness, especially after what happened to you at the Ledger. We promised to help you out, and we're letting you down. It's not fair to you …"

"We weren't fair to you," Clark added. "And you're absolutely right. People are counting on the Torch being there, and no one – not Tony Zucco, The Jazzman or the whole Gotham mob – is going to keep our paper off the press." He studied Chloe's face. Despite her confidence, she was emotionally exhausted. A Zucco henchman had attacked her, and it could have been much worse if Lex hadn't been there. I should have been there, Clark lamented.

I failed her then, too.

"That's right, Clark," Chloe confirmed. She swallowed her vulnerability and put on a brave face. "It'll take more than a few wiseguys to keep the Torch from the people. So we have a truce, then?" Lana and Clark looked at Chloe, then hesitantly at each other and nodded. Nobody's opinions would be changed tonight, so it was futile to argue about what mighthappen at the school board meeting.

"Clark," Lana started warily, "when you're done with your article, maybe you and I can pick out the best photo for your article?"

"Thanks, Lana," Clark agreed. "I'll be done soon. I can stay a bit longer to help you and Chloe with the pre-press production. And I promise I won't break anything this time." His quip managed to get a slight grin out of Lana.

"I'm holding you to that, Mr. Kent," Chloe smirked. "Digital photocopiers don't grow in fields, you know." The Torch office began to hum with some of the usual chatter she was accustomed to. The PTA would present their petition to the Lowell County School Board tomorrow night, and their truce would be over. Clark would stand alone behind Miss Bertinelli – or would he? Any action from Wayne Manor could change everything. Jonathan Kent and her father were the chief sponsors of the petition (and they had the support of the most influential employer in the region: Lex Luthor). Was Lex's 'Rubicon' with Mr. Wayne just beyond the horizon?

Tonight was a reprieve, Chloe admitted, but I'll take any brief respite from the looming mob war that could tear apart Metropolis: my city.

(Dixon-Simone Luxury Condominiums, Metropolis suburbs)

Helena shifted her Lamborghini into gear. Two passers-by turned their heads abruptly as the sports car squealed out of the garage and zipped through the intersection. The only thing on her mind was Luthor Commerce Square … and Tony Zucco.

She frowned. It shouldn't have turned out like this …

Two hours earlier, she had laid out two business cards on her living room table. One was for the teachers' union rep that would go with her to the emergency school board meeting. She thought of the possibility of challenging the parents' petition. Jonathan Kent was a respected member of the community, and it would be his word against hers. Most of Smallville High's PTA were on his side. They didn't want Gotham City's violence in their quaint little streets. Those crimes belonged in the city – not in 'their' town.

She smirked at their indignant attitude. The townspeople allowed Lionel and Lex Luthor to turn their county into their own personal fiefdom – and they accomplished it with the stroke of pens and convenient handshakes. LuthorCorp.'s business practices have already tarnished their slice of heaven in Kansas. How naïve and stupid are they in Smallville?

The other business card read: '_Bruce Wayne. Gotham University patron and alumnus, Chair of The Wayne Foundation.' _ He always sympathized with her situation as a victim of crime and tried his best to keep her away from less-savoury members of Gotham society. Unfortunately, some of those members were also friends and relatives of the once-powerful Bertinelli crime family. She knew she was being screwed over because of her past, and she would have every right to summon Mr. Wayne's considerable influence.

But that was how her father did business: scratching backs and currying favours. Mr. Wayne had done much to assist her return to respectable society, with helpful letters to Gotham U.'s teachers' college and references for the county school board. Before Zucco came into town, she believed that she had finally broken free of her family's sordid past.

Lauren Morris' death shattered those hopes for good. She could cry foul at the board meeting until she was blue in the face, but Mr. Kent, or Mr. Sullivan (or even Lex Luthor!) could drag out her blood ties with the Gotham mafia. Helena was guilty by association. She would become a spectacle again, a piteous object of scorn. _No one leaves the mob alive_, the dons would say.

Innocent blood was spilled in her adopted town, and for what? So that The Jazzman and Tony Zucco can resume their Midwest turf war and claim more lives? Helena tossed the business cards into the trash. I played by the rules of society, she fumed, but those rules didn't apply to people like me. The Lex Luthors of the world (who were nothing but kingpins who knew how to exploit the system legally) would always seize any chance to reap more wealth and power. She feared that – one day – Lex might turn against Bruce, his one-time schoolmate.

Her father was Franco Bertinelli, once one of the most senior dons in La Cosa Nostra. He lived to satiate the greed that comes with such power, regardless of how it affected his family. Helena remembered nights when her mother Maria would sob alone silently at the kitchen table. "Your papa's at work, _figlia,_" her mother had told her in tears so often. _Daughter_. "Go back to bed." She would always be a daughter of Bertinelli; it was in her blood.

Her family was dead, but they left unfinished work for her.

_Kill them before they kill you. There ain't no second chances_. Calmly, Helena put on her leather gloves and loaded the 9mm Glock pistol. She could do it blindfolded. In safe houses from Missouri to Nevada, she had learned how to protect herself. The pistol's serial number had long been filed off, so it was untraceable.

Ms. _Dolce & Gabbana_ – as Sheriff Adams described her – would have no such designer gear on this night. She took off the corporate pantsuit she had planned to wear for the school board meeting, and she slipped on a tight, black woollen turtleneck sweater and black jeans.

Metropolis' six o'clock news reports covered a late-breaking incident in Gotham City's Little Moscow district. A car bomb had just torn apart a social club that catered to Russian émigrés. The explosion killed the owner, who had deep connections with influential people in Eastern Europe – and he was a major financier for The Jazzman Syndicate. Helena gritted her teeth. Tony Zucco got his revenge for the Talon shooting. She knew how they thought. Zucco wanted to make a point to The Jazzman that Lex Luthor was his friend, his 'creature'. It was Zucco's way of telling the other Gotham mobsters that the region – including Metropolis – was his territory. The media would chalk it up as just another skirmish in Gotham's endless mob turf wars, since The Jazzman had enemies from at least half a dozen crime families throughout the eastern seaboard. Mobsters died every day in the city.

But Tony Zucco's rivals would get the message. Metropolis was now in Zucco's hands. There would be more deaths in Gotham's streets, as The Jazzman's loyalists retaliated. Zucco was too smart to attack the Syndicate's assets in Metropolis. It wasn't worth the risk of alienating his new, valuable ally: Lex Luthor.

Lionel's son is out of his league, Helena grunted to herself. But I am cut from the same cloth as Zucco. You don't handle Tony Zucco with polite words and "gentlemen's agreements". Zucco used honour as he used everything else in his life: family, friendships, women, associates, or religion. They were tools of the trade, a means to an end. Disposable.

As her car clocked 100 mph on the beltway, she gripped the steering wheel firmly with her gloved hands. She would be at the construction development soon enough. Her father was a selfish, uncaring bastard – but he was also the husband of her mother, whom she adored. Zucco was the only don with the clout to pull off their murders. He couldn't fail because if he did … her father would surely have killed him. She blinked away any lingering sorrow.

Zucco spilled blood: Lauren's, her parents, and countless bystanders in Gotham's bullet-ridden neighbourhoods. As she eyed the road ahead, she clenched her teeth. I don't care what happens to me, she snarled. Dozens of his loyal, armed associates will be there to protect him, but I have nothing more to lose. I have lost everything dear to me: my family, my name, my career and my honour.

Anthony Zucco, undisputed crime lord of Gotham City, you will pay for a lifetime of sins tonight – with your own blood.

_Mamma_, forgive me for what I am about to do.


	11. CH 11

(Lowell County School Board, Committee Room 100-A, Smallville)

Clark glanced warily to his left. His father and Gabe Sullivan (the co-sponsor of the petition) sat at the first table, in front of the board of trustees. The rest of the parents jammed every row of seats behind them. Clark had dinner with his father an hour ago, but no one said a word at the kitchen table. They were entrenched in their positions. Jonathan Kent and the other parents wanted Miss Bertinelli out; Clark wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

After the Talon incident, Clark was not as certain about the student teacher from Gotham City. The seats behind him were almost empty, except for a few parents and townspeople. Clearly, most of the town agreed with his father and Mr. Sullivan. In a few moments, Lana and Chloe arrived. Chloe sat beside her father, who planted a kiss on her forehead. Lana sat near the aisle and looked towards Clark, but he kept his gaze focused on the committee ahead of him. Their truce at the Torch was over.

There were chants in the hallway outside. When the doors opened, a long file of students in the crimson-and-gold colours of the Smallville Crows cheered. Clark beamed in surprise. The girls' volleyball team came to support their coach. They all wore black armbands and unfurled a homemade banner, which read: WE SUPPORT MISS BERTINELLI! DON'T JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER! Mindy, the player with a crush on Clark, waved at him. "Go Crows, GO CROWS!" the team cheered enthusiastically.

"There will be no more outbursts allowed once the proceedings begin," the superintendent – a regal-looking, middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair – instructed. "Clark Kent, I was told Miss Bertinelli and her union rep were attending?"

Clark stood up. "Yes – I mean, they were supposed to be here by now …" The rear door opened and a young man in his late twenties rushed to the seat beside Clark. He plopped his briefcase clumsily on the table.

"You're the union rep?" Clark wondered. "I was told the rep was … umm … more experienced at this sort of thing."

"I got the call from the union an hour ago," the union rep replied. "I'm the best that you've got on short notice." He looked around in awe at the size of the boisterous crowd. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose."

"You mean … you've 'never' been to a board hearing before?" Clark gasped. The union rep shrugged. "I've been with the union six months. Anyhow, there's not much for me to do, experienced or not. I'll inform the board that I'm filing a grievance with the union, they'll send it to arbitration and –"

"Arbitration?" Clark blurted. "But that'll take months! The school year will be over by then, and so will the volleyball season!"

"I'm sorry, Clark," the union rep offered. "The ball is in the board's court now. And they know it."

A loud cheer erupted from the parents' side of the room. Lex Luthor had entered. He shook the hands of several parents, while others patted his shoulders in gratitude.

"With all the glad-handling, some might get the impression that you're running for public office," Chloe quipped as Lex passed her. Lex remained tight-lipped, but she could tell that he enjoyed the public adulation. Most of the parents chose to blame Zucco and Bertinelli for the Talon shootings. A Smallville girl died, and they wanted justice.

Lex made his way to the front and sat behind Jonathan and Gabe.

"I'm glad you could come, Mr. Luthor," Gabe shook his hand firmly. "I thought it would be important for the entire community to stand united on this."

"It's no trouble at all," Lex answered, "though I had the impression that my help could be problematic." He looked squarely at Jonathan.

"Gabe suggested that inviting you here was the right thing to do," Jonathan admitted. "This isn't Gotham City, and we don't want our town to become just another crime-ridden statistic."

"On that, we're in agreement," Lex accepted Jonathan's change of attitude and shook his hand. He was impressed with the number of parents and townspeople who had rallied to their cause. "If we're to build a community for tomorrow, then it's appropriate that we resolve its problems today … with one, united voice."

Lex, amused at the sight of the youthful union rep, caught Clark's attention. "It's not too late, Clark," he suggested. "Miss Bertinelli chose her own fate when she adopted her family's legacy as her own. This war between her and Zucco isn't your fight."

"You've already taken Zucco's side," Clark snapped, "so I don't expect you to understand. Can't you see – she's being blamed for everything her father did! Franco Bertinelli was a gangster … Miss Bertinelli isn't!"

"I believe she's spoken for herself already, Clark," Lex observed. "Otherwise, she'd have made the effort to come here to defend her own name." The seat reserved for Miss Bertinelli remained vacant.

When the rest of the board trustees arrived, the superintendent rang a bell. "This meeting will come to order. If Helena Bertinelli isn't here, we shall proceed without her."

The young union rep stood up. "I – I'll speak on her behalf. The teachers' union objects to this process, and we will file a grievance with the union." Some of the parents protested loudly. "Get her out!" one of the fathers belted out. "Get the mob out!" Emotions ran high, and Jonathan quickly turned around to maintain order among the parents.

The superintendent leaned towards her microphone. "The board so notes the union grievance."

"Point of order," Jonathan declared. "The parents of Smallville High have a petition …" he stood and unfolded a long list of names, "… requesting that Helena Bertinelli be removed from the classroom for the rest of this school year. We're concerned for the safety of our sons and daughters at school, and that of the town. We move that the school board accepts our request to suspend Ms. Bertinelli's teaching license in this county indefinitely." Gabe put a protective arm around Chloe, who was a victim of the Zucco mob. Most of the parents applauded, and raised their hands in solidarity when the board asked for someone to second the motion.

The superintendent studied the petition. "Do we have any objections?" The volleyball team shrieked in protest, while Clark, the union rep and their few supporters raised their hands to oppose the motion. "I'm terribly sorry, Clark," the union rep lamented. "The motion carries," the superintendent stated. She tapped her gavel, and Clark hung his head in defeat.

"Hold your horses, little lady," a loud voice boomed from the rear of the room. "This fight's just getting started …" The entire room turned around to see who dared to challenge them.

A tall, dark-haired and broad-shouldered man in a light-grey pinstriped suit marched boldly to the front of the room. "Clark Kent?"

"And you are --?" Clark inquired. Who the hell is this guy?

"Harvey Dent, defense attorney, Dent Barristers-at-Law, Gotham City," the lawyer grinned. He winked at the volleyball team and gave them high-fives. "I mentored Bruce back in business school. I take it the board just canned your pal, Helena, and the union copped out with some arbitration 'get-out-of-responsibility' pass?"

"In a nutshell," Clark replied, still uncertain about what had happened.

"Who 'is' he?" Lana whispered to Lex.

Lex clenched his teeth. "Harvey Dent, Attorney to the Stars. Whenever some Hollywood celeb or big-name sports star steps out of line with Gotham P.D., Harvey swaggers to their rescue. He's as arrogant and sleazy as they come, and the only reason he's held in high regard is his association with the Wayne Foundation!"

"Sleazy?" Dent objected. "Now, it seems to me, Mr. Luthor, that your fishy arrangement with Zucco led to this whole Talon incident."

"That's slander!" Lex barked. "Park your photo-op driven legal hysterics elsewhere!"

"Another fight for another time," Dent brushed off Lex's protests. He whipped out a blue sheet and planted it before the trustees. "Motion to suppress, Madam Superintendent. All the quote-unquote 'evidence' these irate parents have presented is gobbledygoop, tabloid flim-flam. Hearsay with no basis in fact. What my client's family has done in the past has no bearing on her abilities as a teacher, or as a volleyball coach for that matter!"

"This isn't a court of law, Mr. Dent," the superintendent insisted. "Spare us the celebrity court theatrics."

"I apologize," Dent grinned as he bowed his head in deference. "I mistook this witch trial as a fair hearing. If the board plunges ahead with this ludicrous scheme and destroys an innocent woman's teaching career, I promise you that I'll turn what just transpired here into juicy headline material. I'll be yapping my big mouth on every talk show from here to Star City. In a week, America will know this town for something other than a meteor shower! Meteor freaks will be the least of Smallville's problems!" The crowd degenerated into a shouting match between the parents, the volleyball team and Helena's few supporters.

"I regret that I couldn't meet Miss Bertinelli in person," Dent continued. "But don't you worry, Clark. I've got her back. It seems you did, too. Alfred figured that you might need someone to pinch-hit." Whether Alfred acted alone or with Bruce's blessing, Clark was relieved that they put a stop to the proceedings, for now.

"Mr. Dent, we only want what's best for our town," Jonathan explained. "Flashy media trials might work well in Gotham City, but we know we're doing the right thing."

"So you'd sell out Ms. Bertinelli to keep this pipe dream of small-town bliss afloat?" Dent argued. "Wake up, folks! You're not going to fight the mob with petitions alone! It's gone way beyond that, and if you can't realize it, Mr. Kent, then I am truly sorry for your naivety, and that of your town. In my experience, corruption breeds corruption. If this petition goes through, I'll bring a civil lawsuit into county court tomorrow morning. Every name on your petition, every person on your board will be named as defendants. I've never lost a case in four years. You take Helena Bertinelli down today, and we take this game to the post-season."

"But Mr. Dent," Gabe Sullivan protested, "Those mobsters almost killed my daughter! We're only protecting our families here!"

"The people are on our side, Mr. Dent," Lex added. "Look, I only know you by your reputation -- such as it is. If you're here by proxy as Wayne Manor's representative, I'll have no choice but to view this as a personal affront. In this county, home field advantage is mine. Tread carefully, counsellor."

"That's what you'd call a classic, Luthor threat," Dent scoffed. "And I'm the one with 'hysterics'? You can't have it both ways, Lex. Blaming the same mob you're between the sheets with on that corporate plaza? Come on! I've got Gotham University, the Wayne Foundation and a sympathetic East Coast media on my side. I know your family by reputation too, and now that I've met you I suspect that we won't be sharing beer and nachos at a Sharks game anytime soon."

He strolled confidently, oblivious to the shouts of the angry parents. "It's already become personal: the moment you declared war on this poor girl's reputation. Tell me, how much did it cost for Tony Zucco to buy your soul?" Lex avoided Dent's allegations. "If her reputation was so valuable to her," he challenged, "then why isn't she here to defend it herself?" Dent didn't have an answer to that, but he continued to berate Lex, Jonathan and Gabe at the same time.

The board completely lost control of the meeting, as the gravity of Dent's pending lawsuit loomed over them. The superintendent frantically tried to restore order and hammered away with her gavel. "We shall adjourn this meeting tonight," she announced, "and resume only if parties are willing to present their interests fairly, without the grandstanding." But that only encouraged the bickering to continue.

In the commotion, Clark wasn't sure if Miss Bertinelli's career was saved or ruined. He toyed with something in his jacket pocket, and pulled it out. It was Miss Bertinelli's rosary. She wanted him to keep it safe, since it was a gift from her mother.

"Blessed in Rome," Clark wondered aloud. He stepped into the hallway to clear his head, still confused about why she gave it to him.

"Clark! Where are you going!" Lex demanded, pursuing him. "Bruce and his smug, high-priced lawyer are about to steamroll over the wishes and interests of this community –" He spotted the rosary in Clark's hands before he could pocket it. "A rosary? I didn't realize you were Catholic."

"It's not mine," Clark said. "Miss Bertinelli gave it to me for safe-keeping. I don't know why. She said it was blessed in Rome."

"A rosary blessed by the Pope," Lex said, "would be tantamount to a holy relic for a Catholic, even one as lapsed as Helena Bertinelli. Why would she part with something so valuable –" Lex paused. Tony Zucco! She parted with her family heirloom because she was going to do something shameful. Something sinful. That had to be the reason!

"Clark, I'm afraid I'm about to be proven right," Lex grumbled. "Helena gave that heirloom to you because she knew she was about to do something wrong in the eyes of the Church. Where is she? She's got to be up to something against Tony Zucco!"

"She wouldn't do that!" Clark blurted. "I tried to contact her this afternoon, but she'd already cleared her things from her classroom." When she said she was planning to do something about it, he believed that she was going to defend herself at the board and speak out against the mob. He stared at the ceiling in disbelief. "I thought she was coming here to fight the petition. Now, I don't know where she could have gone!"

"She must be headed for the A-Train Jazz Club in Metropolis, Zucco's local hideaway," Lex concluded. "Whatever she has planned, it can't bode well: for us or her." Clark thought about super-speeding his way there, but Lex held his arm in a firm grip. "Clark, even if you drove there, you'd have to fight rush-hour traffic! You won't get there in time. I'll have the LuthorCorp. helicopter airborne in five minutes." Before Clark could object, Lex called his cellphone.

Later, Clark and Lex crossed the school board parking lot and climbed into the copter. As they soared towards the endless Kansas sky, Clark hoped that murder was not on Miss Bertinelli's homework "to-do" list.

(Luthor Commerce Square development, Metropolis financial district)

Louie brushed his long, unkempt hair away from his face. The boss wanted him to keep an eye on the construction site entrance. Most people would expect Tony Zucco to meet his Metropolis lieutenants at the A-Train Jazz Club, but that would be too conspicuous. This meeting had nothing to do with the construction of the corporate plaza, and everything to do with The Jazzman's next move. Zucco had taken down the Syndicate's number-one bagman in Gotham, and everybody knew that The Jazzman would respond in kind. The question was: would The Jazzman strike in Gotham City, or in Metropolis?

I'm just a small fish, Louie concluded. Not my concern. He chomped into his Big Size chocolate peanut butter cup, carefully savouring the filling. For a moment, he thought he heard something at the metal fence. It was nothing. Louie became a full associate of the Zucco mob family only six months ago. Zucco's uncle was his godfather: Zucco trusted family above all. Louie always admired the loyalty in the mob because it seemed unbreakable.

On the south end of the construction site, Helena cut the last barbed-wire ring, and carefully scaled the fence. Slowly, she descended the other side and crouched behind a pile of metal tubing. Around the perimeter, she spotted a dozen Zucco associates armed with shotguns or semi-automatic weapons. An "anonymous" payphone call to the jazz club had confirmed that he left there for the night. Zucco had to be here, she snarled. She stalked in the shadows, minding the amber flood lighting around the perimeter fences.

But where could Zucco be? There had to be a site office somewhere, but she could be spotted if she searched the entire site. A large sentry stood near the gates of the construction site. The north end of the site was also heavily guarded. The shortest route would be across the gravel road near the main gates. If she were spotted, the sentry would raise the alarm and she would be trapped.

Helena threw a rock against a wheelbarrow. This time, Louie decided to check where the sound was coming from. He hastily stuffed his bag of potato chips into his pocket and drew his gun. He had never shot a person before, but he knew his time would come one day.

As he turned to look behind a stack of crates, Helena kicked the gun from his grasp and swiftly kicked him in the groin. Louie bowled over, which gave Helena the opening she needed. She wrapped his neck in a suffocating arm lock.

"Cry out, and I snap your neck!" Helena seethed. "Where is Tony Zucco?"

Louie could barely breathe, and he felt like he was going to pass out. His eyes seemed to tilt towards a darkened area of the site. It had to be the site office trailers!

"Who … are … you?" Louie gasped faintly, and then he collapsed. His gun dropped from his limp fingers.

Helena stared at the cold, bleak gunmetal. She could still turn back, and she could leave her past behind for good. But Zucco would still maim and kill people in Gotham, in Metropolis … and anywhere else the mob wanted him to desecrate with their prostitution, extortion and drugs. The police couldn't touch him, many politicians owed him favours and the law was only a tool he exploited for his purposes.

It must end tonight, Helena swore. The blood-splattered image of her murdered family was burned in her memory. A bullet would be too swift, too merciful for Gotham's top mafia boss. He deserved to suffer before he died, but she might not have another opportunity to get this close to him. She cautiously approached the eerie shadows where the site office had to be.

The next few minutes unfolded like a dream to her. A flurry of fists, kicks, and defensive blocks … and one more Zucco associate fell. Adrenaline pulsed through her muscles, driving her forward. A dim light revealed a doorway, labelled 'Site Office'. A few shadows mingled inside. One of the associates outside spotted her and drew his pistol. Helena cursed. One accurate shot and her mission would end, her vow unfulfilled. She stabbed her heel into his gut, while thrusting her arm upward to knock the pistol out of his hand. A chop to the back of his neck silenced his cry. _Keep going, Helena_, she told herself. There was some movement inside the trailer office. Using her shoulder to ram the door, she forced her way inside. _Keep moving_, she ordered herself. There were two men in the office. One baby-faced associate in a cream-coloured suit pulled out a switchblade, lunged forward and slashed at her face. She yelped – he had drawn blood. He tried to stab her again, but she blocked it and grabbed his forearm. She twisted it with all her strength and let out a guttural scream. Breaking his arm, she shoved him into a file cabinet and scooped up the blade.

Only Tony Zucco remained.

He reached for his breast pocket. Helena stormed atop the desk and flung herself upon Zucco. She impaled the blade into Zucco's hand, which began to spurt blood. Zucco roared in anguish and collapsed on the floor.

"Franco and Maria Bertinelli send their regards," Helena growled.

"You!" Zucco shrieked. "Franco's daughter. A traitor's daughter! You just made a grave mistake. You should have stayed in the shadows, little girl!"

He could be right, she feared. A police siren awoke the night, as gunshots rang out in the distance. Did someone raise the alarm? Or have Zucco's dons arrived? She had run out of time.

"Take your last breath," Helena commanded. The bright-red gash on her face began to seep. "It all ends this night!" Helena drew her gun, and aimed the nozzle at the temple of Zucco's head. Death could still claim her tonight; it no longer mattered. She would take the Gotham kingpin with her to Hell, if necessary.

It was now Tony Zucco's turn to plead for God's mercy.


	12. CH 12

(Luthor Commerce Square development, Metropolis financial district)

The LuthorCorp. helicopter zoomed past the brilliant, globe logo atop the _Daily Planet_ building. In a few moments, it landed in a parking lot across from the Commerce Square construction site.

"I called the A-Train Club, and Tony Zucco isn't there," Lex yelled over the deafening 'whirr' of the copter blades, as they sprinted away from the parking lot. "Zucco must be at the construction site."

Clark still did not want to accept that Helena Bertinelli could be a killer. She was bitter and angry about what the mob did to her family, but he sensed that she wanted to leave her sordid past behind her. Smallville was her chance at a fresh beginning. Now, it was all but ruined. Would she resort to murder in a final act of desperation, he wondered.

"Whatever you may think, Lex," Clark argued, "Miss Bertinelli didn't plan to come here to seek revenge." Lex ignored Clark's protests. Soon, they heard police sirens approach the construction site. At the main gates, one of Zucco's associates lay sprawled on the ground.

"Louie!" Lex gasped. He pushed open the gates and rushed to Louie's side. A single gunshot – then two – pierced the glittering Metropolis night.

"It's coming from the north end of the site!" Clark interjected. He leaped into the darkness before Lex could stop him.

Louie, groggy from Helena's attack, blinked himself conscious. "Mr. Luthor? Some chick in black slammed her boot into my gut ...put a chokehold on me. The boss is here … you've gotta warn the boss!"

"Helena," Lex muttered icily. Louie tried to sit up, but he stumbled woozily. He reached for his gun and planted it into Lex's hand.

"Mr. Zucco considers you as his friend," Louie told him. "He don't say that 'bout many people. You look out for him. Do what ya gotta do." One of Lex's security guards finally arrived from the copter. Lex studied the gun in his hand, uncertain if he wanted to prove his loyalty to Zucco like this. "Make sure Louie gets medical treatment," Lex ordered. "He's a friend of mine." Louie nodded weakly in gratitude to Lex, who wandered off the gravel road into the shadows of the construction site.

Further north, Clark heard a hail of gunshots. Two Metropolis P.D. squad cars arrived at the locked north gates, but Zucco's henchmen pinned them down with automatic gunfire. The shots sparked and rattled against the iron beams of the unfinished skyscraper. On the far side, he spotted the trailer marked 'Site Office'. He peered into the darkness, using his superior vision to spot the silhouettes of Zucco's bodyguards. Clark bolted into the shadows with rush of super-speed, swatting aside the bullets from either side with his bare hands. He swiftly knocked their guns to the ground. Within a few seconds, Clark disabled half a dozen Zucco henchmen. Crouched in the shadows, he zapped the north entrance gates with heat vision, shattering its locks. As more sirens wailed in the streets, the remainder of Zucco's guards retreated to the south. _That should even the odds_, Clark grinned. He sped up to the site office and burst through the open doorway.

Helena hovered over Zucco, whose right hand had a knife jabbed into it. His teacher's face had been cut. Clark heard the groans of a henchman on the ground; his arm appeared to be broken.

"Miss Bertinelli!" Clark screamed. "Don't do this! The cops will be here soon, they'll take care of Zucco!"

Helena raised the nozzle of her pistol towards Zucco's head. "This parasite killed my parents! Killed countless innocent people to become Gotham's crime lord! He must die!" There were footsteps behind Clark, and Lex burst into the doorway. He immediately aimed Louie's gun at Helena.

"I saw your handiwork outside, Helena," Lex barked. "It appears that Bertinelli ruthlessness runs in your veins, too! Drop the gun – now!"

Zucco nursed his wounded hand, and roared in agony as he pulled the blade out. "Lex, thank heaven you're here! Shoot her, Lex! Shoot her now!" Lex clicked off the safety switch and pointed his gun at Helena's chest.

"Do you believe me now, Clark?" Lex grunted, as beads of sweat surfaced on his forehead. "Your teacher isn't here to start a new life, but to finish old business. She wants revenge at any cost. She's nothing more than a vigilante." He aimed the gun angrily at her. "I'm going to count to three. If you don't drop the gun by then, I will shoot you. At this range, I won't miss."

"I – I don't care," Helena muttered in resignation. "I won't miss either! Zucco will be dead before you can get me. He ordered my family's execution! He must pay!"

"It doesn't have to end like this," Clark pleaded. "Harvey Dent's taken up your cause. He's not going to let the school board destroy your teaching career. He promised me. We can clear things up, maybe get your old job back at Smallville High, or somewhere else ..." Clark didn't know if that were possible now, but he had to give her something to hope for. She was so desperate – that had to be why she gave him her rosary.

"It's … too late," Helena replied, a tear streaking her cheek. "I will always be a mobster's daughter, no matter where I go. Don't you get it – I'll never teach, never have a normal life again! It's over for me now." She gritted her teeth and tensed her finger around the trigger.

"Lex, if you get me outta this," Zucco yelled, "I will be in your debt. You want influence in Topeka, on Capitol Hill … it's yours! I'm asking you as a friend, Lex."

"Lex!" Clark protested. "Don't make another mistake because of Zucco!"

"Shut up, Clark," Lex ordered. "Helena Bertinelli is a killer without remorse. She won't stop until Zucco dies by her hand." He turned towards Helena. "You have three seconds to drop your weapon, or you can join your parents in the afterlife with Judas Iscariot, Benedict Arnold and history's traitors. _One_ …"

"Finish her off, Lex!" Zucco winced in pain. "It's the only way."

"Lex – don't!" Clark pleaded. Helena muttered an inaudible prayer, oblivious to the chaos around her. _May God have mercy on my soul._

"_Two_," Lex counted, with a determined gaze. On three, he would shoot Helena. There was no other choice.

"I'm sorry, Clark," Helena wept. Clark heard a shot go off, but he had already shoved Helena against the wall. Her shot ricocheted from the ceiling and into the rear wall. He tossed the gun aside and Helena collapsed in his arms, sobbing bitterly. "I'm so sorry, Clark. So sorry."

The red-and-blue siren lights of Metropolis P.D. bounced through the site office's windows. They heard several police officers barking orders and instructions outside. The searchlights of a police chopper probed the construction site.

"Get out of the way, Clark," Lex insisted. His gun was still pointed at Helena. "Helena can't be trusted. Bruce Wayne will buy her freedom, and she'll go after Zucco again. Step aside." Zucco felt dizzy from the loss of blood, but he managed a brief snicker. By the underworld's code of honour, Lex demonstrated his loyalty.

"It's over, Lex," Clark replied, still clutching Helena. "It's over." Before Lex could react, a SWAT team stormed the trailer. "Hands in the air!" the lead officer commanded, with a shotgun levelled at them. Lex dropped his gun, while Clark and the others raised their hands.

Zucco clutched his bloodied hand, as the arresting officer removed a gun from the gangster's blazer. "Well, it's Tony Zucco, Gotham's kingpin," the officer grinned. "Welcome to Metropolis. Boys, read this piece of filth his rights." Zucco glared at Clark. "You picked the wrong team, kid," he sneered as he was escorted outside.

"You have the right to remain silent, Ms. Bertinelli," recited another officer. Clark began to protest, but Helena meekly surrendered to the police. The once-darkened construction site was now a sea of squad cars, SWAT officers and Crime Scene Unit technicians. 'Do Not Cross' police tape surrounded the construction site.

When Lex convinced the authorities minutes later that they weren't involved in the vendetta, they ducked under the police tape and walked through the main gates.

"At least nobody was killed," Clark sighed in relief. "The authorities will sort everything out, I hope."

Lex scowled at his naïve friend, and stopped him. "No, Clark. Your inexplicable faith in Helena was misplaced. This is only the beginning. As far as La Cosa Nostra is concerned, Helena is a dead woman walking! She tried to kill Gotham City's most powerful mafia don! That won't go unanswered. She's a traitor in their world. Not even Bruce's deep pockets or Harvey Dent's legal gymnastics will spare her from what the mob has in store for her."

He headed towards the LuthorCorp. copter. "I'd offer you a ride home, Clark, but I need to check on a friend," Lex remarked curtly, referring to Louie. "I'm sure one of Metropolis' Finest will take you home." Clark ducked his head and stepped away as the copter blades whirled above him.

In the parking lot beside the site, three luxury cars idled. The Metropolis dons had arrived, but they had chosen not to enter the melee – this time. The mafia would recover from this, it always did. There would be other times to plot the demise of The Jazzman, other nights to restore mob honour.

Clark stood outside the gates. Behind him, a bright white sign – emblazoned with the purple-and-black LuthorCorp. logo – shone under the amber floodlights. It read: _'Luthor Commerce Square: Building a new era of prosperity for Metropolis. A bold future for the City of Tomorrow!'_

The words rang hollow, as police cruisers drove Zucco, his henchmen and Helena Bertinelli away. If Zucco's Metropolis dons had intervened tonight, it could have been far worse. Clark shuddered. There was something he noticed then in the trailer office: an unforgiving glint in Lex's gaze. It wouldn't have mattered if Helena had dropped her gun first.

Clark was reluctant to admit that, if he hadn't shoved her away and refused to step aside, Lex would have shot Helena in cold blood.

(Lowell County courthouse, Metropolis)

Two days had passed since the 'Showdown at Commerce Square', as it was billed in the _Metropolis Inquisitor_. Mob violence had escalated in Metropolis streets, and the mayor demanded immediate action. A throng of reporters jostled for position at the steps of the courthouse.

"Zucco posted bail yesterday, despite the shootout at the Commerce Square site," one curly-haired TV reporter blurted. "What does this say about Bruce Wayne's ability to keep Gotham's house in order?"

"Commerce Square was built by the Labourers' Brotherhood, a union 'run' by Tony Zucco," Dent countered. He basked in the media attention, completely in his element. He would exploit it to his advantage. "What does that say about Metropolis City Hall's willingness to turn a blind eye to underworld influence-peddling? Why don't you ask Lex Luthor about that one, missy!"

Below the courthouse steps, Chloe took several digital photos of the media scrum. Zucco had posted bail within half an hour of his arrest, despite the shootout. His henchmen pleaded to lesser assault charges and also posted bail. Tyndal & Lassiter, one of the most prestigious law firms in the city, represented them. By coincidence, the firm represented LuthorCorp. interests many times.

Lana, who was dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, approached from the street. Lauren Morris, the girl who died in the Talon shooting, was buried this morning.

"This is so wrong!" Lana lamented. "Lauren was laid to rest today. She didn't even get a chance to live her life – yet both Tony Zucco and Helena Bertinelli get off scot-free!"

"No one can claim a victory, not after last night," Chloe grumbled. The entire affair left a sour taste in her mouth. Mr. Kent and her father could no longer proceed with their petition, since Harvey Dent threatened the whole town with a devastating lawsuit. Despite Mr. Wayne's claims of neutrality, he exercised his considerable influence to achieve what he wanted.

Helena would go free, with her teaching license intact. Zucco declined to press any charges (to avoid awkward questions about his 'business'), which left Smallville High's notorious volleyball coach in legal limbo. Dent explained at the press conference that Helena was prepared to offer state's evidence about her knowledge of mob activities west of the Mississippi, in exchange for clemency on other offences. The Metropolis D.A. demanded that Helena would be, in effect, exiled from the State of Kansas forever. The FBI agreed, thus allowing Topeka and City Hall to save face.

Atop the courthouse steps, Helena wore a sharply tailored mauve business suit and skirt, a slight scar still visible on her face. She gingerly descended the steps, arm-in-arm between Mr. Dent and a familiar blond-haired FBI agent.

"What's Special Agent Dinah Lance doing here?" Lana wondered.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Chloe sighed, as she scribbled notes in her reporting pad. "Agent Lance must be involved in arranging this clemency package, courtesy of Gotham's favourite son. The long reach of Wayne Manor prevails."

Clark Kent (who had also attended the funeral) wandered down the street, dressed in a navy blue suit. He offered a comforting smile to Helena, who exchanged a brief grin with him before she entered the slate-grey Ford Explorer. Alfred, Bruce's butler, opened the door for her.

"You're among real friends now, Miss Bertinelli," Alfred nodded politely to her. Clark patted his shoulder. "Thanks for the late-inning save, Alfred," Clark smiled. "It was you who saved her, Master Kent," Alfred replied, tipping the brim of his chauffeur's cap. "You had faith in her, when no one else did. You believed in her, despite having every reason to turn your back on her. She has been a victim her whole life, and what she needed most was a friend. It's a damn shame about what happened at the construction site, though. If you weren't there –"

"I know," Clark agreed solemnly. "I was at the Talon when Lauren was shot. I should have saved her. I wish all of this never happened."

"You did what you could," Alfred took off his cap. "You can't hold yourself responsible for that poor girl's death. Zucco's turf war with the Jazzman Syndicate caused all of this." A silver Porsche, with the license plate 'LEX XX', screeched into a parking spot beside the courthouse. Alfred squinted at the car. "Zucco caused it, but Lex opened the door for him."

Clark waded through the melee of cameras and reporters towards Chloe and Lana. "I see you're making front page news out of this, Chloe," Clark observed smugly.

Chloe was tired of Clark's self-righteousness. It was unsettling that Clark would exploit his friendship with Bruce Wayne to defy the will of a majority of the townspeople.

"Even if Helena Bertinelli had no intention of killing Zucco when she arrived in Smallville," Chloe argued, "she brought her family's murderous legacy with her. You're Bruce Wayne's friend – you knew better than anyone that someone like Helena wasn't simply going to forget about her parents' slaughter! Her arrival here was a risk. The 'Showdown at Commerce Square' proves it!"

"She wanted a new life," Clark crossed his arms in defiance, "but no one cut her any slack! Bruce gave her a second chance. She was a mob heiress, and nothing else about her mattered to anyone. Her future was in shambles thanks to that petition. Her back was against the wall, with nowhere else to turn!"

"And people like Lauren should pay the price anyway?" Chloe demanded. "No one is above the law!"

Clark loosened the bright-red tie from his collar. "You're right, Chloe. I am Bruce Wayne's friend. That doesn't make me an expert on his life. I can't even imagine what he must go through to survive each day. I wasn't about to let the town destroy a good person's name, and I did what I needed to do to prevent that. Lex's involvement with Zucco had as much to do with this disaster than most people are willing to admit. Miss Bertinelli made mistakes, but I believe she's not a bad person deep down. She is my friend, too. If that's a problem, then I'm sorry you and Lana feel that way." All Clark could think of was Helena, sobbing helplessly in his shoulder: '_I'm so sorry.'_ That night she was in despair, and alone.

"What's really unnerving, Clark," Chloe explained, "is your indifference to Lex and Bruce's alpha-male sparring! Empire building on Wall Street is one thing, but it's peoples' lives they're affecting here. This county is too small to handle the fallout of another 'Clash of the Tycoons'!"

"Guys, can we please stop bickering about this?" Lana was still upset after the funeral. "Like Chloe said, no one came out a winner here." They watched as Special Agent Lance directed the security detail along the sidewalk. Dent answered a few more questions from the media, and finally stepped into the Ford Explorer.

"There's more than enough blame to go around," Clark said, "We all lost today, all of us." A girl died, Zucco cemented the mob's beachhead in Metropolis, Helena's future was still in question, Lex and Bruce's friendship was on thin ice, and the fiasco threatened to drive a wedge between Clark and his friends. Clark was in no mood to justify his actions to them. He quickly crossed the street to his truck before Chloe or Lana could reply.

Chloe shook her head in frustration, as Clark drove away. Lana thought of the morning's sombre funeral service, and of a young life cut short too soon. It was unjustifiable. "Maybe Clark doesn't want to face the truth," she said bitterly.

"The truth about what?" Chloe replied, hurriedly scribbling final notes for her Torch article.

"That one day," Lana continued, "Lex and Bruce might force him to take sides."


	13. CH 13

(County courthouse, Metropolis)

Lex Luthor marched towards the horde of media. He had learned about Helena's clemency deal this morning, and he was itching for a confrontation. Chloe had seen that look before. It was like a smouldering volcano, before it unleashed hellfire upon the earth.

"This is an outrage!" Lex exclaimed. He pushed aside several reporters. Dent had just closed the door of the Explorer, when Lex grasped the door handle to open it.

A firm, gloved hand seized his wrist. "You don't want to do that, sir." Lex recognized the posh, English accent and pulled his hand free. "Alfred! Normally, I'd offer you a cup of tea and scones served on the Luthor Estate's best china … but under the circumstances, it wouldn't seem appropriate. I take it your presence here means that Bruce condones Helena's get-out-of-jail sweetheart deal!"

"Spare me the martyr routine, _Alexander_," Alfred quipped. "I know you too well." Lex flinched at the way Alfred uttered his name. It was how the butler used to reprimand him when he got into trouble with Bruce during their childhood. He stood motionless in front of the Explorer's rear door. The former British Army soldier would not be moved; Lex knew better than to try.

"Tell me, Alfred," Lex continued. "What could possibly merit Bruce's interference in a local school board meeting? The townspeople had a petition. It was a done deal. Whose reputation was he really protecting: Helena's … or his own?"

"You have no interest in the town's causes," Alfred insisted. "You're tied to the hip with Tony Zucco, and Helena was an inconvenient irritant. Instead of doing the right thing, you did what was right … for you! I had hoped that you – of all people – would understand why Bruce took special interest in Helena's plight." Lex thought that Alfred was angry, but the ex-soldier and spy was saddened that Lex's friendship with Bruce was on such a precarious footing.

"What's there to understand?" Lex demanded. "Bruce used Clark's bleeding-heart tendencies to exert his influence where it wasn't wanted! Bruce has waged war with the Gotham mob his whole life. I don't see how he could have any affinity with this gutless vigilante, this huntress of the night! Considering what happened to his own parents, I figured he'd want nothing to do with a criminal's daughter!"

"Out of respect for Master Bruce's friendship with you," Alfred replied, "I'll let that last comment pass." He allowed himself a few moments to study the distant countryside on the horizon. "You've known Bruce longer than Clark Kent, longer than Oliver Queen, longer than almost anyone. You've been there when he was without a friend in the world, when it would have been easier for you to go along with the crowd. You stood by him, remember?" Lex noticed that Alfred's anger had been replaced with sadness. He did remember those times, happy and carefree.

He recalled a distant night when Bruce had crawled into his boarding school dorm room, bawling like a lost puppy. Lex was nine, while Bruce just was a bit older. Both of them were social outcasts at the Connecticut prep school, due to Lex's meteor-induced baldness and Bruce's loner attitude. Bruce stood up to the bullies who harassed Lex, while Lex offered Bruce a sympathetic ear. Once, their trust was unbreakable:

"What's wrong, Bruce?" Lex rubbed his eyes awake, and bounded from his bed.

"I had a nightmare," Bruce blubbered.

"The same one?" Lex inquired. "At the dark alley?" He went to his sink and poured a glass of water for his best friend.

"The dreams are more real now," Bruce sniffed, and hastily gulped the glass of water. "I could almost see the killer's face this time. Two shots. My mother's pearl necklace broke. I should have saved them. I could have stepped in front of the gun. I could have –" He wept bitterly.

Lex put his arm around him. "Don't feel so bad, Bruce. Your parents loved you. I think my father hates me."

"Probably," Bruce grinned, wiping a tear from his eye. "I bet Lionel hates me more than you. I am a Wayne, you know."

Lex laughed. "I think you're right … 'Master Bruce'." He tried to imitate Alfred's accent, without much success. "Why does Alfred call you that?"

Bruce shrugged, and fiddled with Lex's pencil crayon case. "I don't know. It's some British thing. He said he fought for the Queen in Argentina. Or was it East Germany? I don't know if he's kidding, or if he really was a spy."

"I think it's cool he's your butler," Lex remarked. He went to his nightstand and pulled out a board game. "Well, since you're not going to sleep tonight – wanna play Snakes and Ladders?"

"Sure," Bruce yawned. "You're a good buddy, Lex Luthor. With a shiny head, but you're still a pal." He playfully rubbed Lex's bald head. They played the whole night. Even when Bruce seemed to nod off, Lex kept him awake. "Don't fall asleep, Bruce. I'll be here for you." He wouldn't allow his friend to face those nightmares alone.

Lex awoke from his memories, as Alfred jabbed a finger emphatically into his chest. "You _knew_ better. It shouldn't have taken Clark's plea for help. I once knew someone who did have the courage to stand for what was right. One who fought not for those with power and influence, but for those who had none: the disabled and weaker kids who were picked on in the schoolyard, those without a voice. I know, because Bruce told me, all those years ago. That someone was you, Lex. Of all these people, I expected you to know better!"

Lex began to realize why Bruce intervened. Helena was like him. She _suffered_ just like him. Maybe she wasn't as privileged as Bruce was, but she was also robbed of her innocence. Maybe Bruce was better able to cope because of Alfred's constant support – and Lex's friendship. Helena needed a friend, and only Clark supported her. Lex didn't want to believe that a mob heiress could leave that terrible life behind, but Clark did believe.

Alfred turned from him and walked away. Chastened, Lex ran after him and caught his arm. "Alfred, I – I didn't mean to suggest … I mean, I'm trying to understand."

Alfred turned again towards him. It was neither anger, nor sadness in his eyes: it was disappointment. "You've already made your choice, haven't you? We've had our differences in the past, but I clung to my belief in that shred of personal dignity you demonstrated as Master Bruce's confidant and friend. I see now that my belief was in error! Zucco is a monster, with many widows left in his wake as he climbed the upper ranks of the mob. He defiles every corner of Gotham with his corruption, and if you think for one moment that he'll spare Metropolis, then you're no friend of Wayne Manor."

Those final words were chilling for Lex to hear. Did he have other options in dealing with Tony Zucco? "You could have called Bruce for aid, and demonstrated the moral courage to stand up to Zucco," Alfred fumed. "But that would have required sacrifice on your part, would it not? Pride is the worst of all sins, and you traded honour for selfish gain. Are you prepared to revoke your deal with Zucco's union, and abandon your high-profile corporate project?"

Lex could not answer. He detested the arrangement as soon as he had signed it, but it promised so much potential. He avoided looking into Alfred's eyes because he knew in his heart that he could never abandon this project. It had become worth more than Alfred's lingering respect, something he once treasured.

Alfred walked to the driver's side of the Explorer. "Then, Metropolis is already damned," he declared ominously. "You are truly a fool, Alexander." A police motorcycle escort led the way, as Alfred entered the Explorer and departed with the motorcade. Lex was left speechless on the sidewalk, as the caravan of FBI and police vehicles wound through the streets of Metropolis.

He didn't want to acknowledge the unthinkable, that his partnership with Zucco might have come at a cost too high for him to pay: the trust of Bruce Wayne.

(The Building Barn superstore, Metropolis city limits)

Martha Kent had gone to Metropolis to do some errands and deliveries. With summer just around the corner, she wanted to be ready for the region's popular "Farmers' Market" weekends. She had two armfuls of gardening products, perhaps too much for her to carry.

"I can help you with that," a burly-looking man offered. He caught one of the bags just before it slipped from Martha's grasp.

"That's kind of you, mister," Martha replied. They walked a short distance to the Kents' truck in the parking lot. "I guess I should have taken the shopping cart with me!"

"I guess you should have," the stranger smiled. He seemed to linger a bit too long and gave her a chilling grin. Martha's intuition was set alight.

"Thanks for you help," Martha said hurriedly, "but I really need to get home. My husband is waiting for me." She quickly opened the truck door, but before she could close it, the stranger held the door firmly open. He grabbed the lapels of Martha's jacket and slammed her against the truck's side.

"Your son caused some problems for my boss," the burly stranger growled.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Martha pleaded in vain. She could feel his breath on her cheek. There were dozens of people in the parking lot, but no one came forward to help her. It looked like a domestic squabble, and most of them chose to look the other way.

A few parking spots away, Pete Ross loaded some painting supplies into his van. He had ordered the supplies just before he left town. He only wanted to come here to get those supplies and pick up an application kit from Met U. He didn't leave Smallville on the best of terms, and he still felt badly about how much his friendship with Clark had changed. They were supposed to be inseparable, but he had betrayed Clark's trust in the road-racing snafu. Pete knew he had crossed the line then, but he also felt betrayed. He guarded Clark's incredible secret for so long, yet Clark was quick to dismiss his loyalty the moment he faltered. Clark owed him nothing, but he only wished that Clark had shown more understanding.

They were supposed to be friends, and Pete was only human.

He heard a couple arguing – was it arguing? – beside a truck. He was in a hurry, and it would have been easier to just turn away and go about his business. But the bickering became louder, and the woman sounded terrified. Pete's years in Smallville taught him that you don't ignore a problem when it shows up.

You take on that problem head-on – before it bites you back.

Pete calmly adjusted his jacket and walked boldly towards the arguing couple. The husband (or boyfriend) began to raise his hand against the smaller woman, who cowered against the truck. Instinctively, Pete grabbed the arm of the larger man.

"Hey, back off, jerk!" Pete barked. He was only a bit shorter than the burly man, and he was not going to let him strike that woman. He looked at her: it was Martha Kent!

"Mrs. Kent?" Pete blurted. He shoved the assailant into the parking lot lane. "You'd best step back, if you know what's good for you!" he glowered. More shoppers took notice of the noisy altercation.

The burly stranger glared menacingly at Pete. "Tell Clark we were 'this' close!" he exclaimed, as Pete carefully watched him leave. The man had a black union workers' jacket, which read _'Labourers Brotherhood, Metropolis Local 1920'_. Pete was about to follow the man when Martha held him back.

"No, Pete," Martha begged, "Don't! Please. You don't understand." She seemed rattled, but uninjured.

"Understand what?" Pete wondered. More Kent secrets and I'm out of the loop, he feared.

Martha offered to buy him a coffee at the snack bar in the superstore and he accepted (somewhat reluctantly). He had started a new life in Wichita and was beginning to get used to life without meteor rocks, freaks and Lex Luthor. Martha patiently explained everything that had happened in Smallville: Helena's arrival, the Talon slaying, the school board petition and the firefight at Commerce Square. He learned about Lex's unsavoury partnership with Tony Zucco, Helena's sweetheart deal with the D.A. and how Clark stood alone against the entire town.

"Whoa," Pete shuddered, as he slumped in his chair at the snack bar to digest the flood of information. "And that guy who was harassing you was –"

"Yeah," Martha frowned. "He had to be one of Zucco's associates in the union."

Pete began to feel nauseous, holding his gut uncomfortably. "Suddenly, I'm not feeling so good. I just told a mobster to back off!"

"I would have never wanted you to get involved in all of this," Martha lamented, "but I am grateful you stepped in when you did."

"Hey, no one lays a hand on Mrs. Kent," Pete shrugged, "not while I'm around!" They quietly had their coffee and danishes. When they were done, Pete turned to Martha.

"Umm – how's Clark doing?" he asked. "Battling meteor freaks and Lionel Luthor is one thing, but taking on the ruthless Gotham mob is a whole other ballpark!"

"He believed in Helena," Martha explained. "To the end. He asked Alfred for help, and Bruce Wayne's attorney stepped in. Lex is not happy about that at all!"

"Well, I won't be losing any sleep over Lex's fallout with Bruce," Pete remarked. "My money's on the billionaire playboy from G.C." He stirred his coffee, which had become cold. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? Do you want to report that guy to the police?"

"No," Martha replied. "No police. It could make things worse. I'll have Jonathan meet me in Metropolis." She rested her head on her hand. The recent events had taken its toll on everyone in town and she was tired of the mistrust and hidden agendas.

"Maybe Mr. Dent was right," she thought aloud. "Maybe we are naïve. Maybe Helena was never really the problem. It's the people who turned a blind eye to the things those gangsters do. That petition was supposed to be the magic wand to fix everything. All we wanted to do was protect our town, our slice of paradise." She sighed. "Silly, huh?"

Pete thought of the people in the parking lot who did nothing to help Martha, and he knew that Metropolis was no longer as safe as it once was. He wasn't surprised Lex Luthor played a role in Zucco's successful entry in the city. "It's not silly, Mrs. Kent," Pete disagreed, "We all want what's best for our hometown. But sometimes, even that's not enough. People get burned along the way." He remembered how Clark turned away from him when he tried to make amends for involving him in the street-racing scandal. Did their friendship mean so little to him? Did Clark ever really trust him? Would they ever become close friends again? He didn't have the answers to those questions yet.

_Maybe I don't want to know._

"Tell Clark and the old gang I said hi," Pete hugged Martha and waved goodbye. "I'm glad they're still doing alright."

"Maybe we can visit you sometime, in Wichita?" Martha suggested. She wanted to make an effort to rebuild bridges with Pete. He had done so much for them: he protected Clark's secret, given countless alibis for Clark's superhuman heroics, and served as the sober second-thought to Clark's impulsiveness. The Kents could not do enough to repay him, or the Ross family.

"Clark knows where to find me," Pete stated. "I got his back. Still do." Minutes later, Pete was on the interstate to Met U. He felt proud that Clark had the strength of his convictions to stand up to Lex Luthor (this time), despite Clark's incomprehensible belief in Lex's goodness. Martha's tale only confirmed that Lex could never be trusted. Despite all that had happened, he remained hopeful that Clark would know the right thing to do (even if Clark sometimes acted like a sanctimonious blockhead).

"Clark Kent … a hero to the end," Pete smiled to himself. Clark stood up to Lex Luthor! His elation dissipated when he thought of the mobster's threat to Mrs. Kent.

_They were 'this' close._


	14. CH 14: The Conclusion

(The Talon, Smallville)

Renovations at the Talon continued the day after Lauren's funeral. Lana couldn't bring herself to return to the café until then. "Miss Lang?" the lead contractor inquired. "We just need to you sign off on these invoices."

"Oh, right," Lana replied. Lana quickly signed the contractor's papers. It felt eerie to return to the site of the horrific shootings. The other victim was one of the locals, but he survived. The Commerce Square incident was still the hottest topic on Main Street.

Now, the townsfolk had to move on with their lives. It was better than looking back.

Louie, Lex's friend in the Zucco mob, noticed that Lana still seemed uneasy. He took a bite of his brownie. "Don't you worry, Miss Lang," he reassured her between snacks, "these contractors will do a bang-up job. Best in the biz: you got my guarantee on that. The Talon will be like new. Just you wait 'n see!"

At a table near the espresso bar, Lex tucked an envelope into his breast pocket. Louie was grateful that Lex paid him a visit in the ER that night. (The visit was unnecessary: Louie only had a bruised rib.) Lex inquired about the Bertinellis slayings, and Louie felt obligated to tell him more about it. Most of it was common knowledge, Louie convinced himself, and Lex was a friend. Lex wanted to know the name of the man who shot Franco and Maria Bertinelli. There were wild rumours in the underworld that the hitman was Franco's _consiglieri_: the don's most trusted advisor, one who spoke with the authority of Franco himself. His identity remained a mystery to the general public.

Now that knowledge passed to Lex Luthor. One day, the information could be useful to him.

"I'll reserve your usual table at the A-Train this Friday," Louie remarked in between his last brownie bites. "There's a real doll of a singer coming by from Montreal."

"Send Tony my regards," Lex quipped. Chloe entered the newly framed door, as Louie stepped outside.

"Hey, kiddo, what's shakin'?" Louie greeted her. Chloe smiled politely, but she quickly scurried into the Talon. The presence of a Zucco mob associate and Labourers' Brotherhood contractors had become too familiar. The sooner the Talon is repaired, the better, she shuddered.

"I see you and the 'boys' are getting cosy," Chloe observed. Lex appeared to ignore her; his focus was on the photo in his hand.

"The contractors will be done within a week," Lex replied, sensing that Chloe was uncomfortable around anything mob-related. The latest _Torch_ headline announced: _'School coach dismissed from Smallville H.S.; Parents in uproar over federal clemency deal'._

"That's a rather mild headline," Lex noted, "when you consider that Bruce Wayne got everything he wanted – at our expense."

"As interesting as your corporate ambitions vis-à-vis Wayne Manor might be," Chloe countered, "it's not a local angle. Helena was the true story here." She noticed that Lex was studying an old photo from his boarding school days: he and Bruce were clowning around in front of the camera. She guessed from their rugby jerseys that it was during their early high school years. "Have you talked to him?"

Lex sipped his cup of coffee. "He's not taking my calls, and Alfred nearly chewed my ear off after the press conference! And if you're fishing for a quotable quote to round out your follow-up article, I'm afraid I'll have to draw the line here." Absent-mindedly, he watched as the contractors cursed loudly and bickered about carpentry techniques. "My relationship with Bruce is more complicated than a thirty-second sound bite."

Chloe sat across the table from him, while Lana poured a cup of coffee for her. She packed her reporter's notebook in her tote bag. "Okay, this is completely off-the-record. Bruce drew his line in the sand, Lex … right here! Would it be safe to say that your friendly rivalry is now less-than-amicable?"

"Maybe Lex doesn't want to talk about it," Lana mentioned, somewhat defensively. "They've known each other since they were school kids. We shouldn't pry."

"Thank you for your concern, Lana," Lex replied. "But it's a fair question. We were rivals, always have been. That wouldn't have changed, even if Helena had never arrived in Smallville."

"Then what has changed?" Chloe wondered.

Lex stared intently at the photo. Despite their differences, they were loyal to one another. Bruce's recent actions strained that loyalty. Alfred had admonished him for lacking faith in Bruce's ability to help him, but Lex wanted to prove that he didn't need Wayne influence and money to solve his own problems. Commerce Square was supposed to herald Lex's independence, but Bruce's interference prevented him from enjoying that success. Lex believed that he deserved the adulation that would come with its completion.

He would see the project to the end, without Wayne Manor's approval (which he neither sought, nor needed).

"Nothing's changed, Chloe," Lex argued. "You've seen the documentaries, and read the in-depth magazine profiles. Lex and Bruce: bound by privilege, cursed by tragedy. How could two friends maintain a relationship amidst the ruthless Wall Street bloodletting? When Julius Caesar invaded Italy and plunged the Roman Empire into civil war, his rival Pompey the Great fled to Greece. In his haste, he and his allies in the Senate forgot to take the treasury of Rome with them. Caesar used the treasure to rebuild his armies, defeat his friend at Pharsalus and pursue him to Egypt. Even in death, Pompey was raised to the pantheon of Roman gods. Both men believed that they were preserving the Republic. Who was right? Who was wrong?"

"But how many lives were spent in their name, Lex?" Chloe debated. "How many people had to be sacrificed for the glory of an empire?" Lex abruptly tucked the photo in his pocket. The friendship was beyond Chloe's comprehension, he thought. How could she understand any of it?

"Make no mistake, Chloe," he insisted. "What transpired here is not the final word on the matter. It's an opening skirmish. I honestly can't say where my friendship now stands with Bruce Wayne. Any way you cut it, he is a formidable rival for any captain of industry. He is the son of one of America's great industrialists. A Wayne was there during the first shots of the Revolution, a Wayne held the line at Gettysburg, and a Wayne threw back the _Wehrmacht_ in Berlin. Who wouldn't love to claim that legacy as his own? My father was raised in Suicide Slum; he had to claw and scratch his way to the top. Unlike Pompey, Bruce's treasury is secure, and the envy of kings and sultans. His estimated net worth is $10 billion, with corporate assets totalling three times that amount. Old money and royal jelly have defined Bruce's life; ambition and innovation will drive mine. The true test of our friendship is yet to come."

Chloe's face frowned, with the realization that Lex could remain so self-absorbed. "So, it's come to that?"

Lex seemed puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Chloe packed her things and prepared to leave. "I thought Bruce had tunnel-vision when he aggressively defended Helena's reputation, but his motive was some tragedy-driven belief in her goodness. You've reduced this supposedly 'legendary' Wayne-Luthor friendship to a dollar figure! The fact that someone died here doesn't seem to register to you! Don't pretend that this Monopoly game you're playing with Wayne has nothing to do with envy. This 'friendship' has more in common with Cain and Abel, than Caesar and Pompey!"

As much as she wanted to believe that Lex had the town's interests at heart, she knew that Lex's ambition knew few limits. Alfred had repeatedly warned her to be wary of Luthor intentions; his warnings had come to fruition.

"A girl died here … and you don't seem to care," Chloe lamented. Lex wasn't capable of looking beyond his childhood jealousies. "But it's off the record: your public image is safe." She walked out of the Talon in disgust.

"Chloe, I don't think you understand," Lex pleaded, but it was too late.

"Lauren was my friend," Lana added. "Her life should mean something. With all that's happened, everyone seems to have forgotten about her." She cleaned up the dishes from another table. Clark hadn't spoken to her since the funeral, and time had given her much to consider. Were we too harsh with Helena, or was she a bad apple from the start? "I still think Mr. Wayne was wrong to impose his wishes on Smallville, but he was standing up for a friend. That's how Clark described it. It's not his fault Zucco and the Jazzman set their sights on the Midwest."

"Are you implying that my actions invited the mob to come here?" Lex protested. "My hand was forced! This way, I have leverage on him. Zucco is on a much shorter leash here than in Gotham."

"No one cares about leverage," Lana explained. "All we wanted was to keep our homes safe. I'm not so sure we were able to do that."

After he finished his coffee, Lex hopped into his Porsche and raced towards the estate. It was regrettable that Lauren Morris died, but it was beyond his control. _Gotham is Bruce's city (and his problem)_, he mused. _Metropolis is my seat of power … 'my' Rome_.

If Bruce didn't recognize that by now, Lex would make him understand it one day.

(The Kent farm, Smallville)

Clark continued to repair the perimeter fences along the edge of the road. He had half a dozen emails from Chloe, but he chose not to respond to them. Lana emailed him once, but he merely repeated his belief that Helena did nothing wrong. His father had already left for Metropolis this afternoon to meet his mother. He seemed agitated after she called the house, but he told his son it was nothing to fret about.

In the distance, he saw half a dozen vehicles rumble towards the farm. A Kansas state trooper's cruiser led the way. When the convoy stopped abruptly, Alfred and Special Agent Dinah Lance stepped out of a Ford Explorer and exchanged a few words. Ms. Lance seemed to be frantic, nervously checking her watch.

"Clark," Alfred called out to him. He was in a sharp, navy-blue blazer and khaki slacks, and an Uzi machine gun was strapped – nonchalantly -- around his shoulder. (Only Alfred could make a semi-automatic weapon look like a 'casual' accessory.) "Zucco's New York bosses have learned about what happened in Metropolis, and they've put a contract out on Miss Bertinelli's life. We can't stay for long."

Clark shook the butler's hand. "I thought you and Helena had gone to Topeka to meet the Attorney-General?"

Alfred carefully scanned the horizon; his many years of military training had taught him to remain vigilant. "I'm sorry about the ruse. We had to throw the mob off her trail. Helena is entering the federal witness protection program. She'll have a new identity. I cannot divulge more than that. You won't be able to contact her, not for a long time."

"But I didn't get a chance to say goodbye," Clark muttered. Suddenly, Helena stepped out of the Explorer. She had exchanged her mauve business suit for a pair of low-rise jeans, a black halter-top and a cowgirl hat.

"Make this quick, Clark," Dinah ordered. "It's not safe to stay too long. The Metropolis dons want blood, and they're already sniffing around the county." She quickly hopped into the driver's seat of the Explorer, while Alfred gave Clark a comforting pat on the shoulder and stood guard near the convoy.

"Umm – you look … great," Clark blurted. "The hat is a nice touch."

"Thanks," Helena replied. "I figured it would make me look less like a mob heiress. Well, it looks like I'm on the run … again!" She sighed. "It wasn't your problem, and I should never have allowed you to get mixed up in all of this. I really made a mess of things."

"You were wronged," Clark declared. "By Lex, by this town, and by the school board. They wanted to tarnish your name … I wasn't about to stand by and let that happen."

"Wow, you really are stubborn," Helena snickered. "I can see now what Alfred and Bruce see in you. The world turned its back on me – yet, there you are … by my side. You had absolutely nothing to gain from this."

"Well, I gained a new friend," Clark stated. "That won't change." A horn honked impatiently, interrupting the tranquil moment.

"In a minute, Agent Lance," Helena exclaimed. "Geez Louise, she's one feisty bird!" Clark looked over to Alfred, who seemed to agree with Dinah. They had to leave soon.

"Don't let Agent Lance's tough exterior fool you," Clark explained. "Her heart's in the right place. Oh, I have something for you." He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out Helena's family rosary. "I think you'd want this back. I hear it was blessed in Rome."

Helena gently clutched the rosary. A flood of memories enveloped her: birthday parties, strolls on the boardwalk of Gotham Harbour, playing with her mom in the park and Thanksgiving dinners. They were happier times, before that dreadful night when her life changed forever. She buried her face in her hands and wept. "My mother would be ashamed of me!"

"Don't say that, Miss Bertinelli," Clark said, and he consoled her with a hug. "You could have taken Zucco's life that night. You didn't. Someday he'll have to answer for his crimes."

"Someday," Helena mumbled. She wanted to put the tragedy behind her, but her family demanded justice. But it wasn't the time for regrets; it was time to get on with her life. "You can drop the whole 'Miss Bertinelli' thing, Clark. I'm not your teacher now. My friends call me Helena. You know, Sheriff Adams was right."

Clark was stunned at the admission. "Pardon me? Did you just say what I think you said?"

Helena admired the quiet fields and big, blue sky. If she had been given a chance, she would have called this place home. "Meteor showers and Luthor antics aside, this place is 'God's country'. If only I had the chance …" She still had her teaching license, but would she ever get her life back? The road ahead was uncharted and unpredictable.

"You can always count on someone in Smallville," Clark reassured her. She gave him a peck on the cheek and hugged him one last time.

"I won't say goodbye," Helena declared. "Until we meet again, then?" She hurried to the Explorer. Alfred closed the door behind her.

"Until then, Helena," Clark said. He waved to Alfred, and in moments the motorcade raced away. There were no guarantees that he would see his former teacher again. With Zucco's mob entrenched in Metropolis, the city could no longer claim to be immune from urban decay and corruption. He feared that The Jazzman Syndicate could strike again – but that wasn't his biggest concern.

Bruce had opposed Lex's 'authority' in Lowell County, and he prevailed. Lex wouldn't easily forget that public humiliation. Clark hoped that they could look past it, but Bruce was a man of conviction. He would not be swayed about Helena's mistreatment; Lex knew that and he was determined to challenge him. It saddened him to watch the disintegration of Lex and Bruce's relationship.

Another car puttered down the road. For a moment, he feared that it might be one of Zucco's henchmen. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the bright red VW Beetle.

Chloe parked her car on the roadside and stepped out. She seemed to be distraught.

"If you're here to lecture me about Helena or Zucco," Clark began, "I don't need a recap. You think I was wrong. I believe I was right … end of story." He continued to repair the fences, uncertain of Chloe's reason for coming out here.

"Clark, I didn't come here to argue with you," Chloe offered. She pursed her lips together, disappointed that the mob's activities might affect Clark's relationship with his closest friends. "Lex was at his pontifical best at the Talon today, oblivious to the lives affected by his duel with Wayne Manor. Now, I'm not saying Bruce was right in opposing the parents' wishes … but I'm trying to understand 'why' he felt he had to do it."

"Helena's had a rough life," Clark grumbled. "She wanted a fresh start, and only Bruce was willing to give her a break. No one else was prepared to make that leap of faith. It's not one of Smallville's finer moments." In his eyes, everyone in town was responsible for driving Helena into despair. Yet, no one was willing to admit that was the case.

"Alright," Chloe nodded. "I think the town might deserve that. Anyhow, I'm not claiming to be an expert on all things Wayne, and Lex's considerable baggage with Bruce is more than I can carry. Your loyalty to Bruce Wayne is important to you, and that's all I need to know. When you're ready to talk about it …"

"Bruce is a private person," Clark said. He playfully kicked a pebble across the road. Bruce was a solitary man, but Clark was not. If it weren't for Alfred, he would know even less about Bruce. "I don't entirely understand everything about him, and I've known him for three years. There's only so much I can say about him ... I value his trust."

"Okay," Chloe agreed. "Fair enough." She leaned against the fence. "Bruce is your friend, but so am I. I know this spat is bothering you, and it's not healthy to bottle it up inside."

"What exactly are you asking of me, Chloe?" Clark asked.

Chloe paused. "I'm asking you to keep your doors open, Clark." She was afraid that she might be prying, but she wanted to let Clark know that he could count on her.

Clark grinned. "Well, it's a start." He wasn't going to tell her about the witness protection program, or Helena's brief visit -- but it would be nice to sort out his complicated relationship with Bruce and discuss these concerns with someone other than Alfred. They sat together on the fence to chat, as the sun began its slow, springtime descent. The next few days might reveal more tensions between Zucco and the Jazzman, or more underworld ties to LuthorCorp.

He wanted to stop worrying about those problems for now. Today, he wanted to talk to a friend.

THE END 


End file.
